Copyright © 2024 by Tim J. McKay

New Edition — 2024

Cover design by Rachel Bostwick

Cover and interior illustrations by Joe Requeza

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without permission from the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons is entirely coincidental.

If you believe you see yourself reflected in the pages that follow, try to remember: there’s no way the author likes you enough to incorporate you into his work.

ASIN

B0DBXT696B

1. Science Fiction & Fantasy > Fantasy > Military

2. Science Fiction & Fantasy > Fantasy > Dark

3. Science Fiction & Fantasy > Fantasy > Dragons & Mythical Creatures

To those who stood by in the darkest hours.

Table of Contents

Names & Pronunciations

Part I Rise of Dresca

Prologue The Zerakiim

Chapter 1 Origins of a Villain

Chapter 2 Fall of Naemralda

Chapter 3 The Face of Evil

Chapter 4 The Chazendur Archives

Chapter 5 Barren Kingdom

Chapter 6 Fevered Dreams

Chapter 7 Leave Nothing Behind

Chapter 8 The Halmard

Chapter 9 First Encounters

Chapter 10 Coral Springs

Chapter 11 Springs of Shadow

Chapter 12 Death at Varessi

Chapter 13 Intrigue and Orders

Chapter 14 The Kossa Duel

Chapter 15 The Deldran Ferries

Chapter 16 Ambush

Chapter 17 Apparition

Chapter 18 Mindan

Chapter 19 Strange Encounters

Chapter 20 Attack on Mindan

Chapter 21 Cloak and Dagger

Chapter 22 Schemes in the Dark

Chapter 23 Twisted Memories

Chapter 24 Athamein Attempt

Chapter 25 A Gift of Swords

Chapter 26 Slaughter at Heldriss

Chapter 27 Kartumol Fortress

Chapter 28 Assassin's Demise

Chapter 29 Revelations

Part II Seas of the Zovah

Chapter 30 Podarrek Vistandel

Chapter 31 Escape from Kartumol

Chapter 32 Foiled Attack

Chapter 33 I’m Not Him

Chapter 34 Alessa Sinclaes

Chapter 35 The Salamand

Chapter 36 Karziv’hakaz

Chapter 37 The Chazurii

Chapter 38 Ambrove Conspiracy

Chapter 39 Mobrid Attempts

Chapter 40 Athamein Asylum

Chapter 41 Throne of Selvandrea

Chapter 42 Escape from Mobrid

Chapter 43 Dragons’ Revenge

Chapter 44 Amarros

Chapter 45 A Knight Calls

Chapter 46 Port Sauvande

Chapter 47 Fall from Grace

Chapter 48 Smugglers’ Cache

Chapter 49 Visions of Power

Chapter 50 Storm’s Wrath

Chapter 51 Depths of Terror

Chapter 52 Bastard Choices

Chapter 53 A Crystal Arsenal

Chapter 54 Pallados Island

Chapter 55 Rise of the Zovah

Chapter 56 Zovakem Hive

Chapter 57 Into the Deep

Chapter 58 Remember the Wolf

Chapter 59 Ancient Darkness

Chapter 60 Captive at the Tide

Part III Fall of the Selvar

Chapter 61 Sevora’s Wrath

Chapter 62 Of Fog and Shadow

Chapter 63 The Dark Possession

Chapter 64 A Vestige of Hope

Chapter 65 Stroll into Peril

Chapter 66 The Gammeda Strain

Chapter 67 A Knight Falls

Chapter 68 The Zovah’s Trail

Chapter 69 Return of the Daruman

Chapter 70 Callum Embraya

Chapter 71 Death to the Traitor

Chapter 72 Feast of Sorrows

Chapter 73 Barred by Light

Chapter 74 Into the Forge

Chapter 75 Of Duty and Fire

Chapter 76 Living Is Lost

Chapter 77 Athamein Warrior

Chapter 78 Here in the Darkness

Chapter 79 Heart of Malice

Chapter 80 Moths to a Flame

Chapter 81 The Kanarian’s Armor

Chapter 82 The Dark Skelva

Chapter 83 Fate of a Species

Chapter 84 To the Sharks

Chapter 85 Mother to Us All

Chapter 86 Cataclysm

Acknowledgements

Names & Pronunciations

You’ll encounter many names in your journey through the land of Naevoroth inspired by old Celtic and Gaelic pronunciations. And as with most of us blessed (or cursed) with longer names, you’ll find characters often shortening these names for ease with those they consider friends or familiar. These “nicknames” may help you remember how to pronounce their full forms, and you can always reference back here to keep track of it all.

As an aside, you have my absolute blessing (even encouragement) to skip this guide and get on with enjoying the good stuff. Come back as needed.

For starters, the series title (and a critical element of the storyline to follow) is pronounced thus:

Draemeir

Dray-mare

Characters

Valdaris Drascar

Also called “Vald” (as in “bald” or “called”) — “the Cereman” — “Zeremon” — “Zarah” — “the Gildramor”

Elaryn Deldraea

El-air-inn — Dell-dray-uh

Morraedd Deldraea

More-eh (as in “A” or “day”)-th (as in “this” or “that” but not “thistle” or “thirst”)

Rhynwhen

Rin-when — also called “Rhyn” (as in “kin” or “win”)

Mekkos

Meck-ose (as in “verbose” or “close”)

Athamein Bendan Tarvor

Ath-uh-mine — also called “Atta”

Dain Baerd

Dain (as in “pain”) B-air-d

Seddram Peltan

Se-th (as in “this” or “that”)-rum — also called Seth

Sevora Embraya

Se-vor-uh — Em-br-eye-uh

Melladar Embraya

Mell-uh-dar (as in “tar” or “far”) — also called “Mella” or “Mell”

Breddel Embraya

Breh-th (as in “this” or “that”) -elle

Graveck

Grah-veck

Jedda

Jeh-th (as in “this” or “that”) -uh

Addelar

A-th (as in “this” or “that”) -uh-lar

Noillin

Nwah-lin

Vorgose Mezova

Vor-gose (as in “hose” or “nose”) Meh-zoh-vuh

Podarrek

Poh-dar-eck

Falcen Boagh

Fall-sen Bow-ag (as in “gag” or “lag”)

Places

Ceremai

Sarah-my

Naemredd

Name-reh-th (as in “this” or “that” but not “thistle” or “thirst”)

Siivala

See-vah-lah

Daemori

Day-more-ee

Varessi

Var-ess-ee

Zerakiim

Z-air-uh-keem

Pallados

Pal-uh-dose

Gammeda

Gamm-ee-duh

Selvandrea

Sell-van-dree-uh

Part I
Rise of Dresca

Prologue
The Zerakiim

Elaryn pressed her back against the sharp cliff rocks, panting as she sucked in the stale, toxic air. Her team, huddled together around the corner, felt the fumes scraping their lungs as much as she did. They wouldn’t have thought much of her forced, frantic breathing. They didn’t know.

They had to die.

She’d been planning these murders for months, but her resolve was untested. She knew there’d be no going back, and once it started, she’d have to be quick.

A crashing force shook the cliffside. Elaryn heard a few stifled screams as she fell onto her hands and knees, pelted from above by loosened obsidian tumbling into the crevice. Her ears rang and her vision blurred, but she turned to take in the chaos. Four members of the team were bloodied masses scattered around the small crater where her pack had been.

Good. There needed to be blood. Her heart raced, but the cold edge to her inner voice was unnerving. She barely recognized the thing she was becoming, and these were only the first of many kills to come.

Vorsha, the Selvan envoy leading the mission, stirred and whimpered a few paces away. Elaryn charged, covering the distance in seconds and driving her knee into the woman’s face. Vorsha’s head snapped back and cracked loudly against a rock. Shrapnel wounds peppered her abdomen and stained her scarlet dress a deeper crimson. She wouldn’t be trouble.

Five down.

But Elaryn knew the next kill would be the hardest. She stepped over the corpse by her feet, boots dripping blood that pooled in charcoal sand. She left the woman’s eyes open, her face already pale with death. Evil like this didn’t deserve peace.

But Paltess was different. The boy was seventeen, just six years her junior — and he looked younger still. Worse, she couldn’t be sure he was compromised. Unlike the others.

Paltess stood a dozen paces away, trapped between the narrow walls of obsidian. He stumbled backward and turned as Elaryn drew a crescent knife from her belt. The boy ran, then seemed to remember his pistol between strides. He faltered while grabbing it from his holster and turned halfway around before a spinning blade slashed his throat.

Paltess toppled and the pistol went off with a hissing snap. The lead ball hit the rocks and small shards of black glass shattered down the cliffside with crystal pings.

Elaryn stepped closer. She cleared her mind and tried not to look away as the boy twitched in the sand. She was learning people could bleed out far longer than she imagined. The stories always made death sound quick.

Now for the hard part. Elaryn scanned the rocks for a way up before spotting a narrow gap between the obsidian spikes. The rocks looked sharp, and for a moment she rubbed her palms together. Her black leather gloves were made for style and were ready to tear in a few spots. She’d have to risk it.

A loud shriek settled the matter. She scooped up her knife and scrambled to the cliff, wiping Paltess’s blood onto a spare cloth she tossed aside once the blade was clean. She put her back to the wall and checked the rear passage. Nothing. But if the raptors had found the first bodies, they’d be here soon enough.

Elaryn took one last look at Paltess, eyes glazed over and staring at her with blank accusation. It had to be done. She pushed back any remaining hesitation, slipped her knife into its black crescent scabbard, and reached up with her other hand for the nearest ledge. Sharp rock pressed into her glove without piercing, and she risked more weight as she propped herself up with one foot on the other side of the gap. A few quick maneuvers and she was back on solid ground.

Dry heat and grey ash battered Elaryn from every direction. Outside the shelter of the cliffs, the air was thick with sickly smog painted orange by the sun’s glare. She could make out rolling mounds of black and grey a few dozen paces ahead before the smog grew too thick to penetrate. She’d keep the sun to her back and press on.

Another ear-splitting shriek sounded above and Elaryn rolled aside. She almost fell into the gap and braced in time to watch a raptor swoop down through the spot she’d been. Its grey reptilian wing clipped her cheek as it flew by, and the creature crashed into the rocks as it attempted to change course. Sharp talons lashed out and its neck lunged up like an eel before the monster fell over the edge, leaving a trail of black blood on the rocks.

She’d have to run for it. Her contact said she’d find the Zerakiim fortress close to the mountains, which had to be nearby. The smoke and ash from the volcanoes gave perfect cover, and few dared risk the raptors. She hoped her distraction bought her a little more time.

She hopped forward and broke into a careful jog, crushing obsidian underfoot and losing her balance every few steps. Sweat trickled down her neck and made her breast-strap tingle against her skin. Her black uniform absorbed all the heat in this desolate place, so each step felt like dragging a lit furnace up a mountainside. And the path ahead kept getting steeper.

She took cover under a large, jagged crag of black rock and tried to scope ahead. The sound of raptors feasting grew faint behind her, exultant shrieks and cries of pain carrying on the wind as they fought over the corpses of her former companions.

She coughed into her arm and felt tears welling in her eyes from the smoke. The smell of sulfur and rotting meat burned her nostrils.

A gust of hot air cleared the smog for just a moment, enough for her to make out a rising black wall where the mountain blocked her path. She caught a hint of green light and then another. The signal.

The smog closed in again and the mountain disappeared. The space between her and her destination looked smoother, like hot tar poured down the mountainside without being flattened. It was the closest to a road she could hope for here, though she’d also be exposed. And raptors made their homes in mountain caves and craters — she was walking into a death trap.

Now. She pushed off with her gloved hands, feeling something sharp cut through into her palm. The pain skimmed off her consciousness — her focus was locked onto where she’d seen the green light. Her thighs burned from sudden exertion as she broke into a hard sprint. And good thing: shrieking cries from above rang out in a choir of death, each of her steps drowned out by the closing raptors. Her throat felt parched and her lungs burned, but she kept running.

A flutter of wind brushed past her ear and she ducked on instinct. The gust caught up her tangled golden hair and she tripped forward, her ankle twisting over a fold in the rock where one layer of volcanic fire had cooled over another. She pivoted back onto her path and cried out as a sharp talon caught her upper arm. The raptor swooped past her and spread its thin, grotesque wings.

A musket shot popped from behind the creature and it dropped dead in a twisted heap. Elaryn caught sight of thin gunpowder smoke trailing up from a slit in the rock wall ahead. Another shot fired, then another. Two more raptors fell out of the smog, the second nearly toppling Elaryn mid-stride. She caught her balance and bolted for her rescuers, then veered right to where the green light flashed again.

She was close enough to see the door now, black metal concealed in the rock wall. Five, maybe six musket barrels stuck out from slits on either side, hardly enough to protect her from a raptor swarm. Two more shots cracked in the air. She crashed into the door. It didn’t open.

“Let me in!” She pounded on the cold metal with her fist but pulled her hand back in alarm. A sharp chill passed through her arm, down her spine and up into her head. The abrupt wave of energy, freezing cold and electrifying, caught her off guard and she stumbled back.

All at once, the doors opened, two men shrouded in black cowls stepped out, and a host of raptor cries filled the sky as several monsters swooped in for the kill.

Neither figure looked at Elaryn. The man on the left clasped a polished wooden pistol in both hands, took aim, fired, and let the smoking pistol fall to his feet. His hand flicked down to his side and drew a second pistol.

A raptor fell beside Elaryn with an awful splat. She had to shuffle and roll to avoid its dying attempts to catch her flesh in its jaws. Musket shots and another crack from the shrouded man’s pistol drowned out wheezing shrieks from the raptor as black blood trickled from its mouth before it finally grew still.

“Move!” said the man on the right. He kept his eye on the sky and flicked an ornate black and silver rod he’d pulled from his belt. Hints of blue and red glimmered from the rod’s end and shot out as the rod grew longer. The flickering light climbed up and left a fierce black blade in its wake.

Elaryn didn’t wait to see more. She scurried into the gap between the two men and through the metal doors, only then turning to watch the man grip his sword in both hands and fell two descending raptors with ease. The other figure retrieved his first pistol from the ground and both men stepped back into the doorway. Darkness closed in as the doors sealed behind them.

A soft hum filled the closed space, and dim light appeared from small circles in the ceiling above. Shrouded figures withdrew their muskets from the slots in the wall and pulled down metal panels to block the gaps with a sharp click. Elaryn turned to see over a dozen men and women in black watching her.

No one moved. The large oval enclosure, now illuminated, felt warm and inviting, with a swirling, cherry-brown floor that reminded Elaryn of polished wood. She might have been in her father’s lakeview lodge instead of trapped inside a volcano with trained killers. Beneath their calm composure she could sense in each figure the coiled tension of masters of death ready to strike in an instant. And she felt at home.

“You made it.”

The man with the strange sword flicked his wrist and droplets of black blood fell to the ground. His blade had vanished, and he slipped the metal rod into a notch on his belt while pulling back his hood.

“Mekkos! How?” asked Elaryn.

“How did I reach the mountains before you? I left a week ago,” he said, the hint of a smirk in the corner of his mouth. “A Selvan noble recruit was news I thought best to report in person.”

“Impressive work reaching the enclave,” said the other man, still holding a pistol by his side.

Elaryn didn’t respond. She was still getting her bearings, and making it here had come at a heavy cost, one she imagined would take years to understand.

“Drink this.”

A tall, imposing man she hadn’t noticed in the crowd stood beside her. He held up a crystal vial that caught and refracted the dim light into tiny rainbows.

“Already?” asked Mekkos.

“You’ve chosen well, Mekkos,” replied the man. “And our new recruit has proven her resolve sooner than most ever have to.”

“What is it?” asked Elaryn.

“A final test,” said the man. “You know what we face better than most. You’re either with us or against us, here and now.”

Elaryn stood a little taller. Whatever it takes. She reached out, pulled the crystal stopper from the vial, and poured a viscous black liquid into her mouth.

She only caught the metallic taste of blood as she swallowed and broke into a coughing fit. Her throat burned, and a chilling numbness climbed from her throat into her face and head, then down her spine into her limbs. She fell to her knees but kept herself upright. The room spun. Then it seemed to expand and contract, the figures around her appearing near and far as though pulled on waves in a storm.

An abrupt jolt brought everything crashing back in. And suddenly the world was still — more still than she’d ever felt it. Elaryn felt a plunging calm in her gut, her shoulders relaxing, her mind pulled from her head toward her stomach. The room and its inhabitants were drawn into the sensation, like she was seeing them all at once. Time stopped.

The man held out his hand.

“Welcome to the Zerakiim.”

Chapter 1
Origins of a Villain

Valdaris Drascar stood over the tarnished bronze cannon and waited. Heat rippled from the thick metal and seeped through his stained captain’s uniform, but he refused to step back even as an enemy shell raced overhead. He shuddered as men and women screamed behind in the explosion.

He knew he’d die this day long before an ocean of maroon and bright steel swept over the Kalyra hills and advanced across the plains like swarming gizza. He imagined the flesh-eating insects were less meticulous in the arts of destruction and death than the Selvan army, if no less cruel. And here he was, feigning bravery in service of a reckless war while praying for a quicker death than he knew was coming.

The next shell landed a few feet ahead of the cannon and cut through half of Drascar’s team with shrapnel and fire. Flecks of burning dirt and rock bounced off his jacket.

“We have to fall back!” yelled Graveck, Drascar’s second. Drascar blinked, still numb from the deaths of his few remaining friends.

Like Drascar, Graveck couldn’t have cared less about Cereman independence, but he was a man of duty. And even he knew they had to retreat.

Drascar turned, only to watch a cannon explode to the right and set off his neighboring team’s gunpowder barrel. Debris from a shattered wheel glanced off his forehead and half a cannon slammed into the battered dirt inches from Drascar’s right foot.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Graveck nodded but let Drascar take the lead, as ever. The pair raced to the right between the remaining ranks and made for the enormous cliff towering over the company’s right flank. They’d at least be able to support another gun team while the muskets covered them from above. But as they approached, Drascar felt a sinking intuition in his gut that he’d once again led his friend astray.

Roars to the left confirmed his fears. The Selvans had broken through the forward ranks, cutting down the malnourished mob his people called an army like ripe wheat. Past endless rows of armored soldiers and musketeers in maroon overcoats, Drascar spotted twelve blinking spheres atop the closest hills. Armored figures watched from within the orbs of white light, Selvan lords on horseback overlooking the battle.

No foreigner had laid eyes on the Selvan lords outside their capital for centuries. Yet here they were, so sure of victory as to risk their lives for the pleasure of watching Ceremai’s doom.

Bastards, the lot of them.

The gun team ahead stepped back from their cannon and drew their swords. Drascar and Graveck traded a grave look before following suit. Graveck drew his dull shortsword, and Drascar reached for the captain’s saber he’d been granted with his promotion, a shockingly unbalanced weapon and a constant reminder of his people’s lack of resources, competence, and preparedness for the wars they’d so readily invited.

A bullet tore through Drascar’s shoulder. His mind froze from the sudden pain and the shot sent him spinning. He collapsed next to the cliff wall, staring up with blank wonder at what his life had come to. Graveck yelled after him, but the sound cut short as something whizzed by. A cannonball, as it turned out — the projectile sprayed his friend’s blood over Drascar’s face before slamming into the rocks above, unleashing an avalanche of reddish-brown debris that knocked him unconscious.

Time passed in a haze of pain and blurred motion. Drascar woke long enough to mumble a response to whoever was carrying him away from the battlefield. Blurry, hooded figures loomed over him and a makeshift stretcher splintered into his back, fading into his unconscious as he slipped back into rambling dreams.

He awoke what must have been days later. He felt no thirst, but hunger pangs battered his waking mind. His mouth watered at fleeting thoughts of hearty stew and cold mead. Only after smacking parched lips did he take in his strange surroundings.

He’d been teleported to untamed mountain forests. Dizziness played at his mind, and he was surprised to find himself upright and propped against a corner between two short walls of grey stone bricks. The wall to his right slanted down from the higher formation like a steep ramp. A brown-cloaked man with a face of stone serenity climbed stairs carved into the ramp without so much as a glance at the wounded bundle below.

Drascar soon realized several men and women in similar attire were striding with purpose between the trees and buildings around him. He’d never seen an enclave in the forest like this. Some buildings were beautiful log cabins of sweet pine, a scent that invaded Drascar’s returning senses. Other structures were made of stone and appeared far older, worn down grey and white rock interrupted by encroaching green vines, weeds, and treetops. A few buildings had towers that disappeared beyond the forest canopy.

A pistol went off to his left, somewhere in the woods. The snap-crack of gunpowder was unmistakable. Drascar bolted up against the wall, only to realize his mistake as pain seared his arm and chest.

“Probably best to rest easy, son.”

A man’s voice, raspy but clear, carried from the level above. He began to climb down the stone-carved stairs.

“Your shoulder will heal nicely but needs time. The shot must have been from quite a distance… seems to have lost enough momentum to make your injury little more than a flesh wound. Be grateful it didn’t puncture bone. We pulled out the bullet and patched you up on the way here.”

“Where is here? I don’t recognize these woods. I definitely don’t recognize this… town?”

“You might call it a haven.” The old man’s keen eyes shone with wisdom and curiosity. “You’re probably the first outsider to visit our little sanctuary in more than a decade. And maybe the first of the Ceremai I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. What’s your name?”

“Valdaris Drascar. And yours?” Drascar answered by instinct before caution clenched his chest. Dizziness blurred his thoughts. Everything about this place felt wrong, starting with this strange old man. He was more than old — he was ancient. His skin was tanned yellow-brown like old parchment and clung to his bones. Wisps of silver hair snuck past his hood, slick and greasy as though clutching his scalp for fear of falling out. Yet he stood upright and had an air of calculating intensity better suited to a young man in his prime.

As for the enclave, the landscape was wild and beautiful, but the people struck Drascar as isolated and secretive.

“I am Bendan Tarvor, though you may hear the others address me as Atta Tarvor. A formality, that’s all. I’m an archivist by trade and the head of this body. We’re in the Daemori mountains, if you’re still getting your bearings. The Ceremai don’t seem to venture past the western lakes too often, so I’d not be surprised if it’s all rather foreign to you.”

Bendan was right. Drascar swam across smaller lakes on Ceremai’s western border with friends in his youth, ten or fifteen years ago. He’d stood on the edge of these mountains but knew better than to get lost in the endless range of rock, snow, and woods. “It’s a beautiful place… lush and wild all at once. I’ve never seen stone built into forests like this. From the look of the overgrowth, some of your buildings must be ancient.”

“Not nearly as ancient as structures we’ve found built into the mountains, including some right beneath this compound.”

“You mean you’re not the first to settle here?” Drascar was curious. The Ceremai claimed olden heritage, but their quest for autonomy was young, and the record of their past was scarce beyond the history of the Naemredd empire. Drascar wondered what the world was like before these wars consumed his life.

“Come, I’ll show you. And then perhaps we might re-examine your wound.”

Bendan turned and began a solemn stroll toward the compound’s heart. Drascar was meant to follow, and he did. But an eeriness settled into his stomach. The previously bustling cloaked figures had grown still, with backs turned to the pair walking through. Some chatted in muffled voices, small clusters dispersed between the trees. But no more gunshots sounded, and no faces stood out behind those brown hoods. It was like witnessing a mischievous boy who’d stolen a toy and was trying to avoid eyeing the spot he’d cached it.

Then again, these people had pulled him out of the rubble and doubtless saved his life. Perhaps this mystery had a benign origin. He followed the “Atta” and tried to feign ignorance.

Their path descended through a ravine until the trees cleared enough to reveal their destination: enormous wooden palisades blocking the mouth of a cave. Drascar’s friends would have relished such a find — caves always offered either shelter or the thrill of facing down a predator. He thought back with a pained smile to the time he and Graveck chased down a grizzly. But unlike the bear’s lair, the mouth of this cave was larger than some mountains. The palisades guarding it stretched into the woods beyond Drascar’s sight.

“I’ve never seen its like.”

“I dare say not,” Bendan replied with a smirk. “Entry here is a privilege few are granted. But you and I share common enemies, I think.”

Drascar kept silent. He felt dazed, like in a strange dream. And like in dreams, he felt pulled along a path not of his choosing.

His “enemies” had always been chosen for him. His throbbing wound and bruises were vestiges of conflict he barely understood and didn’t care for. If Bendan was looking to recruit Drascar to yet another forsaken cause, he’d come to the wrong shop.

But dreamy curiosity kept Drascar following the Atta, first through a small wooden gate in the palisade and down a winding path into the cave. Jagged, towering walls lined the path on one side, and a steady stream sloshed over rocks on the other. The drop to the right grew precipitous as the pair made their way deeper into the cave. Above them, the cave ceiling loomed so high that only fading rays of sunlight broke the illusion of a night sky, crystal formations and protruding sawtooth rock masquerading as stars among midnight clouds.

A sharp turn revealed an expanse where the cave came alive. Natural rock gave way to a giant void full of thick, musty air. The cave ceiling transformed into an enormous cylinder carved into the mountain. Drascar couldn’t make out any limit to its height, and the void had no bottom in sight. The cylinder walls were lined with row after row of clear, turquoise orbs that gave off shimmering blue light, like sunlight reflected off a pool’s surface.

“It was a pleasure, Valdaris Drascar.”

Drascar turned in time to see Bendan raise his hand, palm forward. A force like an ocean wave crashed into Drascar’s chest. His feet scraped on flat rock and then felt nothing at all. He had no chance to yell as he plummeted into the cavern’s gaping maw. Pure, unrelenting darkness closed in with a rush of wind. Drascar’s body fell limp, paralyzed by confusion and despair.

And then, nothing.

He came to, panicked and thrashing, desperate for breath and drowning in an oozing slime he couldn’t see. Something coiled around his left leg with an iron grip. His body jerked back and forth, suspended in a sea of what felt like worms or eels, slithering and squirming and creeping over his head and under his legs, across his chest and face.

For an instant his leg felt the excruciating pain of a million bullets and fires and ice storms and then was gone. The pain vanished, but so had his leg. He felt no wound but knew where his leg had been there was only slime.

His right eye vanished in a fleeting, blazing sun of sensation. An attempted scream cut off as his lips, tongue and teeth ceased to exist. The illusory hope of breathing disappeared as one lung and then the other deflated with hisses inaudible to the void. And blessed peace of death came as Drascar felt his skull collapse inward.

Chapter 2
Fall of Naemralda

Rhynwhen kicked her feet and leaned back in the sunlight, taking in the sounds and sights of the capital from her perch on the manor’s outer wall. The smog wasn’t so bad today, and it really was the perfect day to be out. She liked seeing the people go by in the streets below. The lady passing just now had a funny hat.

Rhyn was almost as high up as the construction workers repairing the apartments across the road. One of them, a big burly man with no shirt and lots of sweat, turned her way and waved. Rhyn was so happy, she stretched herself up and held her hand as high as it would go to wave back, arm flailing like a flag in a windstorm. She leaned a bit too far forward and almost fell off the wall.

That was the third time she’d almost slipped. Time to go. She swung her legs back up and skipped over to the gatehouse stairs, oblivious to the gruff chuckles of the worker across the way and how close she’d come to falling again.

Jordy, the gatehouse keeper and her partner in crime, was still off in the manor grabbing lunch. And talking to that pretty maid, no doubt. What was her name again? Misty? Mister? Misser? Miss her? Probably. No matter.

Rhyn peeked through the door, grabbed the big iron key off a hook on the wall, and slipped out the main gate. She hated going on her tiptoes to open that clanky lock. One day she’d be taller.

Outside, she turned left and saw the main street was even busier than she’d hoped. A few carriages rolled by, followed by a company of soldiers in black and red uniforms with long, black hats. She pretended to be one, waving her arms and lifting her legs in that same silly march.

“Rhynwhen!”

Uh oh. The merchant’s bossy wife sounded extra grumpy today. Best be off.

Rhyn bolted forward and charged around the corner of the manor wall, running face-first into a group of girls from school. Two stumbled back, and the tallest girl, Seffie, folded her arms.

“You!”

“Buh-bye!” said Rhyn, and she was off again. The girls chased her, but she knew these streets like the back of her hand. She hoped. She crossed the road and ducked into an alley, turning at a gap and making her way deeper into the maze of buildings. Life in the city was always an adventure.

A loud crashing noise to her left stopped her mid-stride. Booming roars echoed from the same direction, and something whizzed overhead above the alley. The sounds of guns snapping and swords clanging came next, a wild din muffled by the grey walls around her. How strange.

“There she is!” Seffie had turned the corner behind her, still a ways away down the alley.

“Cha cha!” yelled Rhyn, laughing at a memory the girls wouldn’t understand.

She turned left and skipped over trash heaps, lost in a daydream about spinning dresses and fancy teacups. A ball, whatever that was.

“Cha cha, cha’vie, cha’ven, cha’vienne!”

The ballroom in her dream began to spin, and the colors went from faded to bright before whirling past her. She lurched forward. The dream disappeared, replaced by a red brick wall into which she bumped her head with a thud.

“Oh dearie, what have we here?”

Rhyn stumbled back and yelped. The alleys were gone. She stood underneath a wide brick archway. Blue and white marble tiles checkered the floor, veins of grey and black slithering across the smooth stone like tentacles. Polished wood tables and metal chairs were set in no apparent order, all empty except the table right next to where Rhyn had landed.

The old man who had spoken studied Rhyn with amused affection. “Are you alright, lass? That was quite the bump.”

“Gent! Gent!” the man sitting across from him was calling. “Fetch me a pitcher and cloth, if you please!”

“Oh, give it a rest, Jedda,” said the first man. “There’s a little girl here who’s been hurt. What’s your name, dearie?”

“I’m Rhyn,” she answered. “Who are you?” She rubbed her forehead with her fingers.

“I’m Kanna, and this old grump is Jedda,” he said. “Don’t mind him. He’s only been to prison two or three times. Maybe four. He says he was raised by a goat, but I don’t believe that rubbish.”

Rhyn laughed.

“Not true, you asinine half-wit,” said Jedda. “No! I need water, you imbecile!”

The waiter had arrived with a long cloth over one arm and a pot of steaming brown liquid in the other.

“I’ll take a refill, while you’re here,” said Kanna.

The waiter poured into Kanna’s outstretched cup, then walked to the counter at the back of the archway and scooped a bucket through an open barrel of water. Rhyn stood there in a daze.

The waiter lowered the bucket onto the table, and before Jedda had a chance Kanna grabbed the cloth from the waiter’s other arm and dipped it into the water. He wiped a trickle of blood from Rhyn’s forehead.

“Just a scrape. Why don’t you hold this here while I fetch good Jedda another cloth.”

Jedda glared at his friend’s back as he walked away. He looked down at the brown stain sinking into his light grey pants and sighed.

“Days like this, I miss the mountains.”

“Ooohh, the mountains!” said Rhyn. “I love mountains! There’s snow in the middle of summer! Taffy all year round! Did you know taffy comes from trees?”

“I did,” said Jedda. His face twitched a little, perpetual sternness giving way to a slight grin that he immediately suppressed.

Kanna returned and offered Jedda what looked like a dirtied dish towel. Jedda reached out and his friend snapped the towel back.

“Tut tut, I don’t think you’ve earned this,” said Kanna.

Jedda’s hand shot out like a viper.

“Give it here.”

Kanna let go and Jedda stumbled back, nearly sliding off his chair. He dipped the towel in water and went to work on his pants, scraping away at the stain without a word. Rhyn caught Kanna smirking and giggled.

“Our new friend is from the mountains,” said Jedda.

“Oh really? The kind with smoke and fire?” Kanna asked, voice booming for effect.

“Syrup,” answered Jedda.

“Of course,” said Kanna.

Just then, Seffie and her little posse came running into the café.

“Found you!” yelled the leader. “You’re done for now, you stray mutt!”

“Now, now, missy, is that any way to talk to a friend?” said Kanna.

“Shut up, old man,” said Seffie. “You smell like a fish market.”

Her posse jeered and one girl’s laughter cut off with a snort. Seffie looked back, eyes on fire.

“As for you,” she said, glaring at Rhyn, “you’ll wish you’d been caught in the riots when we’re done with you.”

“Girls these days,” said Jedda. “All smarts and no respect.”

“I’m smart! See?” said Rhyn with a twirl.

The spin made her dizzy. She thought she saw smoke rising from a big black castle, and an older girl with golden hair like hers.

“Cha’vienne!”

Seffie’s jaw dropped, the space where Rhyn had stood now empty. A crashing sound startled the girls and they ran from the café in a panic. The two old men returned to sipping their coffee while the city burned.

Chapter 3
The Face of Evil

Drascar was alive. He accepted the impossibility as one accepts laughing daffodils in a dream. His new lease on life, his perspective widened by acute suffering, already felt normal. Obvious, even. No reason to linger when the world had become so interesting.

He was still in a cave. A dazzling world of sparkling crystal particles and layers of brittle sheetrock were strewn across the cave floor. Shattered rocks were piled on the far side of a massive chamber that had caved in. And recently, from what he saw: remnants of dust falling around those crudely stacked rocks, descending lazily between cracks and gaps to the floor beneath.

A noxious mix of sulfur and mold burned his eyes. He coughed on the thick air and fell to his knees.

Strange throbs pulsed behind his eyes and down his arm into his hand. He stretched out his fingers and saw through them before the bone and blood and flesh solidified. He wasn’t sure whether to feel horror or intrigue, but the moment passed and he looked over the rest of his body as the throbbing subsided. His clothes hadn’t changed: a Ceremai navy, gold, and black artillery jacket over a brown leather vest and white undershirt, navy pants still stained black from gunpowder and through which he could still feel the oil and grease from endless cannon polishing and gun swabs. His sturdy black leather boots were still laced up to his shins. Everything was the same.

Past his still-outstretched arm, he sensed movement. He perceived before he saw, like a ripple in the air pushing currents of light and dust to give away some foe’s position. And what he saw was malevolence. An image flashed before his eyes: a beast’s head maned in writhing black mist and shadow, gaping jaw full of razor fangs like sharpened smoky quartz, eyes dead and yet piercing into his soul with malintent.

The image vanished as quickly as it appeared, but Drascar would never be the same.

He fell back, panting for breath with arms stretched behind him. He had little time to react. Past the now-faded mirage of malice he found the actual origin of that earlier movement. It was the most wretched creature Drascar had ever seen. And it leapt for him, pushing off the rocks with black, bat-like wings, each the length of a full-grown man.

Drascar twisted to the side and crawled away with desperate speed. He found a gap between more fallen rocks and pulled himself in, only to fall headfirst before twisting to slam onto his back. Panting, he heard a crash as dust and rock chips fell from above.

The creature thrashed at the entrance to this lucky shelter, its long neck extending deep through the rocks and fearsome jaws snapping the air between snarling roars. The monster was eyeless, but Drascar felt the terrifying sensation of being spotted by a predator as its reptilian snout locked on his position. Elongated jaws opened to reveal two rows of black crystalline fangs. The monster sucked in the air between them with a sickening wheeze, then pulled back its head and just as quickly shot forward to spit out a jet of black, oozing slime.

Drascar covered his face. But in that moment he felt something like awareness, as though a small sphere around him had become his own personal dominion. Every tensing muscle in his body, every heartbeat, each strand of auburn-brown hair, the iron-rich plates and brittle limestone in the rocks and walls around him — it was all his. And he felt the acid raining down into this sphere, rippling energy undulating through the black globs like a current beneath still water.

The fear coursing through his veins gave him no chance to marvel. He rolled to the side, watching with sick relief as the acid splashed on rock and coughed up hissing sulfuric steam. He scrambled forward and felt more than saw that he was in a tunnel curving into the unknown. He also felt intention: the sinister desire of the beast behind him to tear him limb from limb. And he felt the cruel familiarity a killer feels when its prey falls into a trap. The creature’s thoughts, more instincts than ideas, lingered in the back of Drascar’s mind with absolute clarity.

These new sensations rammed through Drascar’s awareness without subtlety. He was dizzy. And yet, as he scrambled deeper into the smooth tunnel, he felt a growing calm. The need to survive replaced a lifetime of scattered worry with focus. And Drascar’s newfound sphere of awareness came with a certain sense of control, the very thing he’d spent most of his life wishing for, yet never found.

Drascar realized something as he crawled forward. The acidic slime had slowed down — he shouldn’t have had time to roll aside. He remembered the oozing black slime’s texture, how he almost felt linked to that rushing vomit of death and how it seemed to respond to his panic. In that timeless moment, somehow the feeling of awareness and control had become one and the same.

Maybe desperation to escape was clouding his thinking, but he had to know.

Drascar pushed out with his thoughts and felt the cascade of awareness rush back in. He kept crawling. The tunnel’s smooth rock was oily to the touch, seeping into his pants at the knees and making any grip with his fingers impossible. He reached with his mind in all directions and realized how far he’d traveled into the tunnel — far enough to barely make out the clicking and scratching sounds of the creature still trying to get in. Far enough to have passed a fork mere moments earlier where the tunnel branched off to the left and downward, a plummeting slide he wouldn’t have been able to climb back up.

The tunnel he’d chosen abruptly stopped, blocked by cracked rock and some sort of metallic debris. Light pulsed from the metal. There was something artificial about the substance, black like onyx and bright gold intertwined in intricate swirls and runic carvings. He drew closer, and all hell broke loose.

Drascar’s sphere brushed what looked like the broken end of a giant metallic pillar. A sudden rush of energy and increased awareness streamed into his body, as if every sense and sensation had been amplified by contact with the metal. He could sense deeper through the rock around him and realized this tunnel ran parallel to a massive chamber below supported by metallic pillars like the one in front of him. The pillar blocking his path had caved into the tunnel from a similar chamber above.

As it drank in the metal’s power, his sphere expanded outward like a shockwave from an exploding artillery reserve. He’d seen an armory destroyed by the Selvar with similar effect. But then his sphere made contact with the creature.

Drascar had never felt such hatred from another being, not even in the heat of battle. The creature erupted in a fit of panic, sensing the power reaching out from its prey and lashing out with renewed desperation. And Drascar also felt something like… jealousy? It didn’t matter — the creature shattered rocks in its powerful jaws and crawled downward with three sharp claws protruding like a hand from the bend in each wing. It crashed into the tunnel in a heap of debris and dust, pausing for only a heartbeat before turning in Drascar’s direction and leaping forward.

Drascar was trapped. It would take less than a minute for the creature to reach him, not enough time to crawl back and slide down the other tunnel into the chamber beneath. Drascar reached out with his sphere of awareness, still amplified by the metal pillar, and felt himself become one with the swirling black and gold designs, the tunnel walls and mountain rock beneath. He fed his fear, his need to survive, into the mysterious metal.

The pillar erupted in light and energy. Tunnel rock above and beneath Drascar cracked as though beaten by cannonfire, and the floor gave way.

Chapter 4
The Chazendur Archives

Drascar fell in an avalanche of rock and metal. Musty air rippled through his clothes and a thin, silver floor broke his fall. He barely caught his breath before a rock the size of his body hit the floor to his left and crashed through. He flailed his arms as he stumbled into the new hole and slammed shoulder-first into cracked limestone beneath. Debris clinked against metal above, some smaller rocks falling through a series of holes before pelting his head and back.

He worked himself up onto his knees but fell forward, caught off balance and swaying despite the solid floor. Frayed remnants of what looked and felt like a rug slipped from under his feet. He found his balance, then tried to get his bearings. Broken shelves and a shattered wooden table lined the wall to Drascar’s left. A wooden door interrupted the wall in front of him, stained glass in blues and reds lined with bronze veins above a flat, bronze and black doorknob.

A roar came from above, like a lion’s but sick and reptilian. Drascar leapt for the door. It resisted before inching open just enough for him to squeeze through. He entered a hallway saturated with light, a flood of colors that left him dazed and tripping as he rushed forward. He slammed into a wall, turning the corner as the door behind him exploded in hissing fragments. A larger, two-paneled door barred his path, but a second later he was lying in a pile of wood and glass on the other side.

He wasn’t sure how he’d covered the distance or gained enough speed to shatter the door. It must have been rotten. He’d lost his sense of time and motion — he just wanted to survive.

Drascar pushed himself up and pivoted to get away from the entrance. A few bounding strides brought him to a narrow staircase that he climbed three steps at a time, pulling himself up by a gold rail that felt cool to the touch. He followed the railing on this second level and turned a corner, crouching behind the balcony’s rotting wood. A rasping hiss and clattering debris announced the creature’s arrival below.

Safe for the moment, Drascar took the chance to marvel at the view. He was hiding on the first of two upper levels in an enormous square chamber. Eight monolithic pillars held up the ceiling. From his vantage he could make out two crystal chandeliers lined with gold rims and chains, each crystal shining like a thousand diamonds. The crystals gave off waves of light in every possible color. But the real marvel was how the light shot out in individual beams, bright, pulsing strands of light that bounced off walls and railings and shelves and tables, the beams overlapping and fading like a brilliant tapestry suspended in the air.

He held out his hand and watched in wonder as the strands of white and gold light made contact and reflected back out in an array of pinks, reds, blues, and tans. He could even make out the fading beams of light that ricocheted off his hand straight into his eyes.

It was the same for every object in the chamber. Light bounced off endless rows of shelves on the second level, each shelf lined with tattered bindings in blacks and browns from what must have been books. Every object the light touched emanated weaker strands of light reflecting the object’s color, the new strands overlapping the crystal beams and pulsing as they were interrupted by falling dust. It was beautiful. Drascar had stepped out of horror into a world of light.

He kept his back to the balcony and his head down, relaxing the tension in his muscles in this first respite since being tossed into the pit. He felt bile rise and suppressed the memory of being dissolved, consumed, crushed, suffocated. Was it even real?

“Am I dead?”

The question was a mistake. Using his voice for the first time since this nightmare began brought on a fit of coughing, like an awkward attempt to join a conversation after remaining quiet for hours. Except Drascar’s throat responded as though he’d never spoken in his life.

He stifled the coughing with an arm across his face, but it was too late. A blur of shadows rippled through the light.

Drascar pushed off the balcony and landed between two bookshelves, turning back as the wooden barrier behind him shattered into dozens of flying splinters. The creature’s eyeless head thrashed above the rail as it attempted to pull itself up, its wings gripping the railing awkwardly by those talon-like claws. It gave one last hateful snap of its jaws before slipping, crashing down to the floor below. Drascar heard desks collapsing under the creature’s weight and took the opportunity to crawl farther into the maze of shelves.

Any relief he felt was short-lived. The floor where he’d just been melted and fizzled into a gaping hole, the bookshelves on either side tumbling through in a hissing mass of acid, rotting wood, and molten metal. He turned a corner into a new aisle and ran with all the speed he could muster. His legs felt numb and unresponsive.

Another hole erupted beneath some shelves a few aisles over, opposite the way he’d chosen.

Finally, a break.

The creature had misjudged his movement — it couldn’t see him from below. But Drascar knew evading a predator in such an open space was a doomed strategy. He needed to escape or hide.

For a moment, that vision of malevolence shrouded in black mist came back to him, and he wondered if hiding from evil of this nature was even possible. He’d try either way.

The aisle ended in a wider pathway. Drascar looked to its end and saw an arched doorway opening into a stone staircase. He bolted down the path amidst more explosions of metal and wood. The creature seemed more frantic, as though it sensed its prey’s intention.

Drascar tumbled past the stone arch, up spiraling stairs carved out of the mountain rock and lined with veins of that same gold and black metal from the pillars. He scrambled on hands and knees, past a fork leading back to the previous room, and climbed higher still. The stairs ended a story up, where they fed into another arched passage.

This passage was different. Its walls were lined with blue-green crystals set at intervals, each held in place by thin, swirling veins of gold metal. They reminded Drascar of ornate handguards he’d seen on some officers’ rapiers, those impossibly fast dueling blades reserved for fools who thought war was fought one opponent at a time.

The gold pulsed with energy. As the energy flowed into the crystals it transformed into brilliant rays of blue and green that shot out to light the passage. Each step Drascar took was like walking deeper into thick, colorful mist. The rays of light bent around him like clouds or bounced off his clothing in new colors.

The passage ended in a thick metal door with two golden knobs. He reached for a knob and felt the rushing awareness he’d experienced when touching the pillar fragment before. The door felt somehow alive. He could feel each ridge of the runic carvings drawn in the silvery-black metal. Within the metal itself there was a tightness, as though invisible lassos pulled its atoms together. Gaps in the three inches of metal allowed the door’s mechanism to connect its doorknobs to latches in the floor and ceiling, each metal piece and thin rod clear to Drascar’s mind.

But even before trying one of the knobs, he knew the door wouldn’t move. In his heightened awareness he could see three rectangular bars connecting the two panels. No lock or mechanism seemed to reach them. It was as though the door had been barred while being made, never to be opened. But Drascar could feel those same invisible lassos pulling on the metal bars, with wide slots built into the door next to each bar.

By instinct he reached out, pulling on the invisible strings holding the top bar. The golden knob in his hand lit up, and with a crude thud the first bar slid to the side. The cords around it vanished, like a knot disappearing after pulling the right string.

Drascar repeated the process, this time feeling a sort of conscious intention within the lassos as they unraveled. He realized with a start that someone had put them there. Someone had done the reverse of his efforts to unbind and move the bars, putting them in place to seal the door. Someone else had used this awareness, this control, and — stranger still — someone had left lasting imprints of that control.

Drascar moved the last bar, and the tension throughout the door evaporated. He turned the knob and pulled the door open.

The room beyond looked like the remnants of a study. But what Drascar noticed first was a man sitting at a large, decorated table in the middle of the room. The man was slumped forward, head tucked in the crevice of his arm as if asleep. Dust covered his tattered clothes and long, jet-black hair.

Drascar had little chance to react — a crashing sound echoed through the chamber behind him. He turned around. He didn’t have to reach out to know the creature had somehow climbed to the second level and found its way into the spiral stairs.

Once again, Drascar had been neatly trapped. He had a sinking feeling that the scene of tranquil death behind him would mirror his own, assuming the creature didn’t just melt through the door and tear him apart.

He reached for the first doorknob and pulled the door closed. Still holding the golden knob, Drascar closed his eyes and reached out, a rush of energy and perspective overwhelming his senses. Physical sensation melded into a singular field of awareness and intent. He didn’t even have to think — the three bars slid back into place as though anticipating his need. Little good they’ll do against spraying acid. By instinct he pushed his sphere out farther still, not past the door but deeper into it. He felt as though his mind’s eye was no longer behind his forehead but within the door itself. And somehow the door remembered the seals Drascar had unbound. He fed his awareness into the door like fuel for a fire, and in a moment of mystified transcendence Drascar felt himself ignite with energy. The invisible lassos reappeared and pulled the door in on itself.

He let go, and dust erupted from the doorframe as something crashed into the other side. But the door held, small wisps of sulfuric steam rising from the floor.

Maybe the poor sod behind me was hiding from the same creature. If so, Drascar didn’t like his chances.

Another crash shook the door. The entire frame shuddered as the metal bent inward. A sharp click told Drascar that one of the upper latches had snapped. A few more hits and the door would cave in. So he’d do what he had to. Survival meant solving one problem at a time until you got out of trouble or lost the game.

He reached for one of the doorknobs and pushed all his awareness into the passage. Time stopped. Energy coursed into his exhausted bones, first from the golden metal in the door, then from the gold sconces wrapped around those blue-green crystals. The creature was right there on the other side. Its massive, pitiful body barely fit in the passage. Muscles in its wings and hind legs tensed, ready to propel the creature’s full weight into the door.

Something felt different about the creature’s mind. It gave off a wave of alarm as Drascar’s awareness invaded its consciousness. But beyond alarm, where before Drascar had sensed malevolent hate, he now felt frantic confusion, mindless instinct. This broken creature was hunting not out of malice but because it was a predator that had identified its prey.

It didn’t matter. Evil or rabid, it had to be stopped. Drascar pushed out, each fissure and crack in the passage walls now vivid as canyons to his heightened awareness. He picked out three larger fissures a few paces behind the creature. In this timeless, breathless moment of clarity, he resigned himself to the trap he knew he was releasing on both the creature and himself.

Drascar’s sphere of awareness imploded just as a wave of searing energy pulsed through the door. He collapsed, the exhaustion of the chase finally overpowering his need to survive. The last he heard before his mind slipped into darkness was the crashing of rocks as the passage beyond caved in.

Chapter 5
Barren Kingdom

The clear rings of clashing swords echoed off the courtyard walls. A dozen men stood in two lines, each armed with the finest Daruman longswords — remarkable weapons far lighter than they had any right to be and custom-crafted for the few soldiers deemed worthy of them.

Elaryn was almost envious.

The Daruman prince stood ahead of the two rows, calling out techniques for the men to practice. The sword at his hip was even finer than the rest, with a flickering orange gem in the pommel and a dragon crossguard, and Elaryn had no doubt he knew how to wield it. He had the stance and firm grace of a trained warrior, but every few maneuvers he smirked over the soldiers’ heads. His eyes glimmered with promise and desire. In another time, before the Zerakiim, she’d have seen the appeal.

Now, she saw only a spoiled, arrogant prat with a dark edge and a sword she might one day have to cross with her own. She looked down and smiled. A quick clash between them would wipe that treacherous grin off his face — he had no idea what she could do.

The Darumans had marveled at the bloodied Selvan heiress stumbling through their gates a few months back, amazed there’d been even a single survivor. They’d tracked the Selvan envoy to the Zerak mountains on their eastern border and assumed the worst. No one ever survived the raptors. As impressed as they were, they’d never imagine the things she’d seen, or the power she now had flowing through her veins.

Darumae’s king, Vistandel, had been a gracious host, eager to win favor with the powerful nation on his western border should the Naemredd empire get greedy. And Elaryn was happy to play mediator, though she couldn’t have cared less about establishing trade between Darumae and Selvar. What she wanted was a haven.

They called Darumae the “barren kingdom” for its lifeless grey and brown mountains, but there were no better mines on the continent. Their ready access to precious metals and minerals afforded Darumae a rare position of independence among Naevoroth’s smaller nations, though Naemredd considered them part of its empire. In truth, no foreign power had attempted an attack on Darumae in over a century, well aware of their countless fortifications and reputation for unstoppable warriors.

If there was any place she’d be safe with the child, it was here.

“Ready?”

Even with the Zerakiim power flowing through her veins and heightening her senses, Mekkos still knew how to get the drop on her. His zarakas rod was pressed firmly between her ribs, sharp enough to let her know she’d have been dead against a real foe.

“I should have been alert,” said Elaryn. “I apologize.”

“It wasn’t exactly fair,” said Mekkos. “Between you still adjusting to the master’s gifts and a courtyard full of sweating swordsmen, I’d hardly expect you to be at top performance. I’d go for the prince.”

Elaryn groaned at Mekkos’s stupid grin, but she was grateful for her mentor’s support. He acted more a father than Morraedd ever had, even before the events that led her down this dark path.

She stood, and Mekkos held out the zarakas rod between them.

“You’re sure?” she asked, studying the weapon and noticing a matching black and silver rod still on Mekkos’s belt. She hadn’t realized he’d brought another.

“Keep your knife handy, just in case,” said Mekkos. “But yes. We may have to leave sooner than expected… we have a target.”

“Here?”

“An Athamein zealot, and probably not the only one here already,” said Mekkos. “They’ve never had a foothold in Darumae, but we shouldn’t be surprised by their sudden interest.”

“You think they’re after the girl,” said Elaryn, more statement than question. She took the zarakas rod with a grave look, gasping as sharp, cold energy shot up her arm and chilled the air in her lungs.

“Perhaps. More likely, they sense the threat without knowing what it is. And there’ve been rumors in the Order of former Athamein dissidents in the king’s own household. The zealots could be here chasing the same rumors. I’d hoped to see if there was any truth there, but we’ll have to leave that mission to others. The child is too important.”

The pair set off for the western tower where the girl was being kept. They’d tasked a few trusted servants with looking after her, but Elaryn didn’t like leaving her alone. Something about her reminded Elaryn of her mother, Talrinn. She had the same golden hair, the same innocence, the same boundless joy, the same scattered mind impervious to the perils around her. And Elaryn couldn’t bear seeing another pure soul lost to the darkness.

“Wait,” said Mekkos. “That’s him.”

A tall man in dark dress robes turned a corner ahead. Torchlight glimmered off his black and crimson silk jacket, the luxurious fabric reaching past his knees and laced with swirling silver trim along the collar and cuffs. He looked a dignitary except for his graceless walk and unkempt hair.

His right hand was gripped tight around the hilt of a shortsword.

Elaryn and Mekkos followed close behind, silent and keeping to the shadows where their dark travel gear was least exposed. Elaryn had worn her torn Selvan garb when she came to Darumae, but she’d taken up the Zerakiim armor at first chance when Mekkos arrived soon after. The unpolished leather was common enough not to draw attention, but a soldier’s uniform was meant as much for the bearer as for others. She valued the daily reminder of what she stood for, and of the war she was fighting.

The castle walls shook, spilling dust into the corridor. A child’s voice echoed off the walls. The voice was Rhynwhen’s, somehow speaking in ancient Siivalar but rambling and unintelligible. Elaryn and Mekkos looked at each other, stunned, before the man ahead drew his sword and bolted for the stairs.

Elaryn was on him before he touched the first step. She covered the distance in a few long bounds, her legs strengthened by rage and the master’s power. The zealot heard her approach too late, turning just as her zarakas rod sparked and the long black blade tore into his gut. He lurched forward, raising his sword, but Mekkos slashed across the man’s wrist. The shortsword clanged against the stone floor as Elaryn pulled her blade free, her mind drawn into the onyx weapon as power flooded her senses. She had to brace against the wall for balance as the zealot toppled over into a pool of blood.

“Well done,” said Mekkos. “I’ll dispose of the body. Hide your blade and get the girl. It’s time to go.”

Elaryn nodded, stepping into the stairway, but her breath caught at the sound of a woman’s laughter. She turned back toward Mekkos and froze.

The image was gone in an instant, a fleeting apparition of mist and shadow. But hovering over the dead zealot she’d seen an all-too-familiar woman in a scarlet dress, the rich fabric still stained with blood from Elaryn’s ambush.

“Go,” said Mekkos.

He had to wave before she realized he’d spoken. She didn’t think he’d seen the woman, and Elaryn was too afraid to ask.

She wasn’t sure which was worse — thinking she was going mad from misplaced guilt, or facing the possibility that Vorsha Mezova had somehow survived. Elaryn had come so far, endured so much, and finally started to believe she’d eluded the consequences of those fateful murders. Now, in her heart, she knew she’d only succeeded in earning the dark’s enduring gaze.

She felt the presence of evil in that laughter like a pack of wild hessen cackling in the night, fear lingering in her bones well after the sound faded from her mind. She knew the cultists believed in some sort of afterlife, but she’d never imagined anything so literal. Or sinister.

She jerked her head. Enough. She’d vowed to never underestimate the rising dark again. And it would take more than hovering spirits to keep her from protecting the child.

She closed her eyes, letting her mind link with the rod in her hand before the blade retracted in a flash of blue and red sparks. The zealot’s blood fell in a thin line to the steps below. Elaryn stepped over, all thoughts of guilt and fear banished by resolve to find her new ward and keep one small corner of this world from falling to shadow.

Chapter 6
Fevered Dreams

A frantic cry woke Drascar from twisted, tormented dreams. A rap, rap, thud sound shook dust from the metal door. Another cry, some pitiable mix between a roar, snarl and plea for help, broke through any lingering drowsiness. Drascar was awake, and he was trapped.

His clothes were damp and he was still groggy with exhaustion. The sound of muffled breath and another thud sent him shuffling back until he touched the desk in the middle of the room. He wasn’t sure he liked sitting so close to a dead body, so he stood up and paced around the table cautiously. Two more gold-sconced crystals lit the long rectangular room from either side, beams reflecting off the table and prone man so they seemed ablaze with light.

Drascar would have thought the man a figure out of myth if he weren’t so distinctly dead. There was a mustiness to the air but no foul smell of decay.

Another thud and a much louder roar resounded through the door.

“Shut up!”

Drascar’s own anger and volume caught him by surprise. His voice echoed off the walls and even the rays of light seemed to quiver. But the creature simmered down.

He turned his attention back to the man. He probed the body with his awareness and wasn’t surprised to find energy, millions of invisible lassos holding the cells together. Outside, the man appeared normal, even peaceful, but inside, shriveled organs clung to bones like magnets. Where there should have been a brain, Drascar found only a brittle mass of charred, black matter as though a thousand lightning bolts had struck inside the man’s head.

Drascar noticed a sheathed knife strapped on the man’s belt. Looking down at his own waist, he realized for the first time that his uniform belt and captain’s saber were missing. It was the first real physical difference he’d noticed about himself since falling into that ghastly pit. Obviously, on the inside a lot more had changed. He was still trying to figure out how much.

He reached for the knife and pulled it from its ornate leather scabbard. As soon as the blade broke contact with the leather, the scabbard fell apart into a pile of dust, as did the man’s body. A few scraps of clothing clung to the chair as others fell into the dust on the floor. Small pieces of metal from the scabbard’s clips and the man’s buttons skipped across the room.

Drascar wasn’t sure how to react. Then again, reverence had never been his strong suit. Besides, this man must have been dead for centuries — maybe longer.

He stepped back and bumped into a broken wooden frame, whatever artwork it once held long since shriveled and decayed beyond recognition. His legs felt numb, and to avoid any more clumsy collisions he stumbled over to a corner to sit down. He reached for a bookcase for support as he turned to sit, only for the shelves to collapse, knocking Drascar’s back and head painfully against the wall while his legs shot out and he landed hard on his tailbone. He only just avoided landing on the dagger.

Another roar, hissing sounds that sounded more like panting, and head-splitting scratches like nails on blackboard — Drascar ignored it all. He huddled in the corner and held up the dagger. The blade was almost long enough to pass as a shortsword, about the length of his forearm. And he’d always been told his arms were long, dangly even, disproportionate despite his already being taller than average.

The hilt felt warm to the touch, a slightly curved cylinder of smooth black metal with a flattened gold pommel at the bottom — the same metals Drascar kept encountering in these ruins, metals somehow conductive to this newfound awareness.

“I think I’ll keep it.”

The creature roared in fury.

Drascar reacted without thought — he plunged his mind into the dagger and felt a river of light and energy course through him, as though the dagger had been a reservoir of power that burst open. His sphere exploded outward, a cascade of awareness and sensation rushing in. In another timeless moment he saw his rage and annoyance at the creature, a well of anger that had been building unseen with each subsequent event of the past few hours, or days, or however long it’d actually been. He’d been played the fool, cast down to die, consumed, pursued, and now trapped, with only the dying wails of his pursuer for company.

Enough.

Drascar reached out to the passage. Two crystals had fallen loose during the collapse, one stuck between some fallen rock and the other lying by the creature’s feet. One muscular leg kept kicking out, sharp claws barely missing the crystal each time. The back half of the creature’s body was pinned under rock and metal debris. Drascar took in the scene with mild satisfaction. Then he imagined the creature within the palm of his hand and crushed.

The rocks moved a finger’s width when the creature’s agony invaded Drascar’s mind and became his own. He felt a searing pain in his side and looked down, knowing he’d see nothing. Reaching out again, he noticed this time that the edge of a fallen rock had pierced the creature’s flank, each movement tearing the gash deeper as thick, crimson blood dripped onto the passage floor.

In a heartbeat he became connected to each droplet of blood still beading down the creature’s body. He was mesmerized as rays of blue-green light from the crystals struck drops of blood in the air, turning them into glowing orbs of radiance, shimmering whites and reds and purples dancing across the spheres before plummeting into the pool of blood below. Drascar’s anger and the creature’s agony both withdrew to a back corner of his mind, made small compared to this incandescent display of light and beauty. Even the creature became still.

Drascar let go and the pain in his side evaporated. The creature rapped its head against the door. Drascar hardly noticed the clang of the dagger slipping out of his hand as he drifted into a deep sleep.

He woke up curled in the same corner, clothes still damp with sweat. He twisted the toggle fastenings on his artillery jacket and unbuttoned his vest, reaching up to drape both over the edge of a shelf. He barely managed. His arms felt weak, and aches in his chest and legs limited his movement. A bitter cold crept into his bones.

Within the hour he was shivering violently, delirious with fever.

Drascar slipped in and out of dreams. The infinite rays of blue and green light danced across his vision, crisscrossing at a million points with brilliant intensity. He grabbed the dagger off the floor and propped his elbow on his knee so he could hold the dagger at eye level. His hand shook from the strain and shivering so the dagger seemed to multiply into a gleaming arc of black and silver.

He steadied the blade, noticing for the first time black carvings etched in the steel. The dagger’s edge curved like a serpent. Two inches of bright — almost white — steel bent inward with a cruel, serrated edge that reminded Drascar of a shark tooth he’d found once. As the edge curved back out, it became smooth and deadly sharp, arcing gently into a fine point perfectly aligned with the hilt.

Without warning, the blade shot out from his hand. It flew spinning with the speed of a bullet and embedded itself deep into the far wall just below one of the crystals.

Another thud at the door and a weak growl from the creature — Drascar was too delirious to care. But his fevered mind knew he wanted that dagger. He reached out and felt his sphere ripple outward, but everything slipped in and out of his awareness so he had only a tenuous hold on the room. His vision blurred, one second letting him see dust and tattered clothes with perfect clarity, the next fading so even thick book bindings appeared as blotches of black and brown on the shelves.

He focused on the dagger, the gold and black metal of the hilt beginning to glow at the touch of his awareness. He imagined pulling on the dagger while pushing hard against the stone wall, and in a flash the dagger exploded from the wall and sliced through the air toward Drascar’s head. The timeless sense of this sphere of awareness, even impaired, let Drascar bend the dagger’s path just enough for it to pierce the wall next to his right ear.

Pulling the knife free from the other wall dislodged the golden sconce with its crystal. The sharp clang as the metal struck the floor rang in Drascar’s ears. And it hurt. His sphere shot out on instinct, took hold of the sconce in mid-air as it bounced, and summoned it across the room so it crashed into a chair leg gracelessly before landing in Drascar’s now outstretched hand. He put the crystal on the floor next to him, barely conscious of its glaring light, and slipped again into the world of dreams.

He had a nightmare about sharks, accepting without question that he’d been teleported from the abandoned underground study into raging seas, treading water in the middle of a storm-battered ocean while waves crashed over his head. A fearsome kayrion shark rushed up from the depths to grab his whole body below the arms in its merciless jaws and pulled him under.

He woke to sharp pain in his side and a piercing headache. He was still shivering. A surge of despair and desperation threatened to overwhelm him. As he suppressed his emotions, another thud announced the creature’s presence on the other side of the door. He wanted to pity the creature — it wasn’t in Drascar’s nature to leave an animal helpless and dying.

But pain in his head and gut interrupted any thought of compassion. He felt like he was being eaten from the inside out. The light from the crystal beside him became blinding. He pushed it away with his foot, only for the pain to grow tenfold.

And beneath the pain, that same malevolent presence Drascar had seen earlier in the cave reveled in his suffering. No fearsome image appeared before him, but that feeling of terror and cruel intent was unmistakable.

No. Defiance and clarity broke through Drascar’s fevered mind. He reached for the fallen crystal, extending his sphere out and up so that all at once he felt a cascade of energy from the metal in the dagger’s hilt above him, the second sconce just above the dagger glowing with power of its own, and the fallen crystal flying into Drascar’s hand.

Bringing the crystal closer snatched an unseen veil from Drascar’s eyes. The pain burrowed into his flesh, thrashing about in his head and stomach, but now he could see. He turned his attention inward, holding on to the energy from the dagger and crystals for all he was worth. As he probed into his own depths, he saw wisps of black mist moving like translucent eels, passing seamlessly through flesh and bone and blood without apparent direction. Pain erupted wherever the mist touched.

But the light was beginning to trap and shrink the pain. A hollow orb of rippling, golden light shrank and compressed the darkness, starving it like a flame deprived of air.

The now-familiar sense of timelessness came over Drascar. His pain and agony felt infinite, but calm clarity began to emerge parallel to his other senses. He looked into that glowing orb and saw something incredible. Potential. The word was something felt more than understood. He collapsed his whole sphere on that small orb and watched in wonder as the light burned through the darkness, then exploded out in a glowing sun of radiance.

The pain in Drascar’s gut vanished, but his head felt on fire. He lost hold of his awareness, slipping for a moment back into fevered delirium. But bright warmth climbed up Drascar’s body, and another eruption of radiance expelled the dark mist.

Drascar sighed with relief, and his awareness returned with a strange realization. The same eruption of light had just repeated itself inside the creature. He heard violent thrashing through the door as the monster howled in anguish. Pain in the creature’s side was eclipsed by pain from dense black fog in its body being pushed back by the light. Drascar felt it all.

The creature bellowed out a final defiant roar and collapsed. Drascar’s vision dimmed, the crystals flickering like candles so he could barely see.

But he was free, and he basked in the euphoria. His sight was diminished, but the reaction in his body was overwhelming. The musty thickness of the air intruded through his nostrils. Dust parched his mouth. Stone jutted into his back. Everything felt richer, truer. His fingers danced over the smooth metal of the crystal sconce, energy pulsing back and forth along the gold veins. Each pulse grew more intense until the metal glowed with warm light.

He closed his eyes, hoping this moment would go on forever. He felt more alive with each passing second, but a flicker in his mind warned that the creature was waking. He heard a rustle from the passage outside, and in a flash new beams of light appeared in all colors and directions across Drascar’s view.

And before Drascar could react, he lurched forward, his body unmoved but his mind feeling as though it had been ripped from his head and hurled across the room.

Chapter 7
Leave Nothing Behind

Revenge.

The word reverberated in Drascar’s mind. It carried rage and a broken, dark will into every crevice of his unconscious, loose ideas more felt as intentions and emotions than thought and language. Revenge burned through Drascar like a fire — Bendan Tarvor’s face flashed with startling clarity before his mind’s eye. But even after what the man had done to him, Drascar would never have thought himself vindictive.

He wondered if he was losing his mind. Lesser traumas had broken greater men.

A roar stifled by pain resounded through the door as the creature became frantic. It clawed helplessly with its wings, unable to unfurl them and the rest of its body still pinned by rock. Possessed by a madness, it pushed forward and tore the wound in its side without regard. A tear trickled from Drascar’s eye, but the pain both he and the creature felt was nothing compared to the dark stormcloud of hate hovering over both minds.

Vengeance and hate were hardly the feelings Drascar expected after ridding himself of the dark malevolence he’d seen within. And this creature had no reason to hate the old man. But Drascar felt helpless before the wave of murderous intent pouring from the creature’s fractured mind.

Without warning, his body stood up. He felt his will hijacked as he strode across the study to the door, grabbed one of the golden doorknobs, and removed the seals and bars in a surge of energy and awareness. He pushed the door ajar.

The creature looked up — actually looked. Amber-gold eyes like a wolf’s stared at Drascar, not predatory but pleading. Silvery oil dripped from between the creature’s black scales, pooling with its blood on the passage floor.

A million thoughts fired through Drascar’s head, but he acted before any of them could coalesce. The massive rock slashing into the creature evaporated into sand and dust, each particle a curious, glistening thing of beauty to Drascar’s heightened awareness. He gingerly directed the grains of sand out of the creature’s wound. Sand slid between rocks and twirled in a tiny whirlwind behind where the passage had collapsed — Drascar almost became lost in the moment.

He felt no sense of intrusion or fear. Taking action, really doing something, made him feel in control for the first time since being trapped. A small sense of accomplishment settled into him as one rock and then another rose and drifted away from the creature. He was focused on his task with passing awareness of any need for caution. A deep sense of reward accompanied each step toward freeing the creature. He knew what he had to do. Escape. Revenge. Escape. Food. Rest. Revenge. Escape. Each goal overlapped and mingled with the others, a loose pattern adaptable to changing circumstances. Conscious thought seemed to lose meaning.

Rocks still barred the stairway behind the creature. Even with the door’s two panels ajar, the creature was still crammed in the confines of the passage. So again without thought, but feeling strangely clear, Drascar pushed the door open.

The table behind him slid toward the study wall where the knife had dislodged the gold sconce. Polished wood legs scraped against stone. Drascar wasn’t sure if it was him or the creature that moved the table. He took a few steps back, still facing the creature, until he felt dust and tattered clothes under his feet. He turned enough to grab the chair by one hand and pushed it back against a bookshelf before sitting. The sensation of sitting in a chair felt strangely foreign.

Drascar knew what to expect next, but a hint of tension lifted when the creature entered the room without even glancing his way. It struggled onto its legs, crawling forward with its wings, claws bent back and rapping the stone floor like an ape walking on knuckles. Blood and silver oil trailed behind.

From so close, Drascar took in the creature’s full size with a sense of awe. It was easily as long as three grown men from head to tail. Its body filled almost half the room as it shuffled to the wall where the dagger was still embedded. With a final limping exertion, it slumped to the floor and curled its body around the second crystal, still on the floor where Drascar left it.

The mysterious light from the crystals once again diminished, both from the creature’s body covering the fallen sconce and from the creature settling into a far more restful sleep. Somehow, Drascar’s heightened perception was, at least in part, dependent on the consciousness of this creature.

With the doors now open, new light streamed into the room from a dozen crystals. Drascar sat there taking in the spectacle, entranced by the patterned chaos of intersecting green, blue, and gold beams from every direction.

With a small exertion of focus, he summoned the two crystals that had fallen loose in the passage. They floated through the air on a river of light, the golden sconce of one crystal dripping red and clear silver liquid that made it seem aflame. At arm’s length he had them stop, then flow gracefully so their motion traced a figure eight in the air.

He sat there, wondering what in the world was going on. No answers came. Thoughts slipped from his grasp before Drascar could give them meaning — a mental block that warned him away from pointless questions. Instead of questioning this clarity and power, he wanted to use them. Instead of understanding the changes happening in his mind and body, he wanted to bask in the glow he felt. And instead of interrogating Bendan Tarvor for answers, he wanted revenge.

Drascar knew in his gut, from the deepest well of intuition, that Bendan and the rest of his cultists were a threat to more than his own survival. He doubted he was the first to die by their hands. But justice meant little to him now. Drascar’s desire for revenge was primal — the need to stick a stake through the heart of evil now the fundamental essence of his being.

As he surrendered to his newfound clarity, the floating sconces began to glow in oranges and reds. One by one, the sconces in the passage followed, changing from gold to molten red, fiery orange rays now mingling with the blue-green of the crystals until the study and passage were so bright that the space seemed home to a new sun.

Another river of energy cascaded through Drascar’s mind. He felt hurled from his body, but this time his awareness flew up through mountain stone, a dizzying loss of direction making the experience feel like he was once again falling into a bottomless pit. The fall ended abruptly in an open cavern, much like the one Bendan had shown him. This cave was smaller, and sunlight trickled in from a narrow entrance.

Scattered in groups of threes and fours, hooded figures worked away at the stone with pickaxes. There was a strange rhythm to their movement. The group closest to Drascar brought their pickaxes down over their heads in a sweeping wave, each pickaxe hitting the rock just after the last — one, two, three, four, crack, crack, crack, crack. Another group lifted their pickaxes, and all three struck stone with perfect unity. Chh. Again. Chh. There was something inhuman to their synchrony.

Drascar stood there unseen. A likeness of his body danced on rays of sunlight that rippled as he moved but raised no alarm among the robed figures. He could still feel his body, surprised by how short the distance was between the underground study and the miners above. He knew the cave must be near the forest compound but was otherwise lost. So he explored.

One step forward on a carpet of air and light brought Drascar reeling to the entrance. Carts loaded with rubble waited along a dirt path carved into the forest, and past that Drascar could make out one of the larger stone buildings from the compound. He took another step forward and blinked. He was back in the cave, standing where he’d started between two groups of miners.

So this thing has limits.

He tried something else: he sent out a sphere of conscious energy, loose focus that wrapped the whole cave in the bubble of Drascar’s mind. He had only an instant to marvel at this feat of divided attention, an endless stream of detail flowing into his mind from the cave while from his body below he still held two crystals floating through the air.

This time, the hooded figures noticed. As Drascar’s sphere enveloped them, their synchronized movement faltered. Two miners tripped over their own feet, one woman in another group lost hold of her pickaxe on a downward swing and sent it flying at a rock wall, and one of the hooded men missed his target and hit his own foot with agonized howls.

Hide. Drascar closed his sphere without question. The creature was afraid — not the terror one experiences in the face of malevolence, but the reverent caution one adopts before a dangerous rival. It wasn’t the men and women in robes the creature feared. Something was coming.

Drascar’s projection vanished from the cave. No dizzying flight carried him back to his body — he simply looked out through his own eyes.

The glow faded from the sconces and Drascar settled the two crystals on the floor. Beside him, the creature was awake and staring with apprehension toward the ceiling. Blood and oil pooled beneath its body, but a strange glimmer caught Drascar’s attention. Some of the oil had turned solid, coins and blotches of dark silver metal like the floors of the structure he’d passed through to get here. Some of the creature’s blood had been caught in the metal so it gleamed with layers of silver and crimson red, reminding Drascar of tiger’s eye marbles he’d played with as a child.

Remarkably, the creature seemed healed, with only a jagged line between its scales indicating the flesh had ever been torn. Stranger still, some of those scales were no longer black. Scattered spots over the creature’s body had turned pine green and navy blue, dark enough to still blend with the black but unmistakable to Drascar’s heightened senses.

Seems we’re both changing.

The creature looked at Drascar as though jolted from a stray thought. Urgency passed from its mind to his like a ringing bell. The creature hobbled up, muscles still sore with the dull ache of healing. One wing lifted and planted its claws just shy of Drascar’s foot. The creature tilted its long neck, then drew itself up so its body rose to the ceiling.

Blue and green rays of light traveling from the crystals to the creature suddenly shone white with intensity. Then the room went dark, save for the light from the passage. Drascar looked at the two crystals on the ground — they’d shattered and taken on the fissured white complexion of cheap quartz.

A tremor shook the room, not from the earth’s foundations beneath but from the cave above.

Drascar felt a morbid curiosity to project himself back up there. He could have sworn he heard the muffled sound of a roar. The creature heard it too — it shuffled forward, crushed one of the gold sconces underfoot, and leapt into the passage.

The light from the remaining crystals vanished.

The faintest glimmers told Drascar where the curved dagger still protruded from the wall. He walked over, grabbed the hilt, and ripped the dagger loose from its stone sheath. The metal felt cool as spring ice.

Remember. He heard the thought in his mind like an echoed whisper, as though it came from both the creature and the dagger at once. The voices were jumbled, and Drascar couldn’t tell if what he heard was meant for him. An image from memory flashed before his eyes, smoke rising from a field that had been scorched and salted to stall the Selvar invasion. The intent of the message was clear: Leave nothing behind.

He grabbed his jacket and vest from where they still hung on the bookshelf, resting the dagger on the shelf to slip them on before taking it back, wishing he’d managed to save the leather scabbard.

The metal shards on the floor began to melt. There was no heat or glow, but the gold sconces rippled with energy and slowly rearranged themselves into running liquid. Streams of gold trickled down the study wall and from out in the passage before meeting in a swirling pattern on the floor. Red and silver liquid collected in a bubbling pool where the creature had been and rose off the ground, soon joined by the streams of gold. The metal split, folded, condensed, and hardened before Drascar’s eyes.

He was soon baffled to find himself staring down at five gold spheres the size of large marbles, and next to them a red-silver silk pouch with a dark silver drawstring. Just like the bag he’d kept his marbles in as a child, though now the bag had tiger’s eye colors and the marbles were luxurious gold. A braided cord of the silver-red silk lay coiled in a heap where the creature’s blood had been thickest. He decided the cord would make a fine replacement for his belt.

Drascar knew in his gut he couldn’t leave these strange creations for anyone to find. He didn’t know why. He plucked the marbles up, slid them into the silk pouch, and pulled the drawstring before tying it around his new belt. He turned the corner around one of the heavy metal doors and found the passage empty.

The creature was gone. The fallen rocks from the passage ceiling were gone. Thick sand rose and fell in heaps near the passage entrance, and some rays of thin white light caught on shattered quartz along the passage walls. Drascar followed the light to the end of the passage and turned left, following the forked path away from the stairs and back into the huge library with its radiant chandeliers.

He gripped the dagger in his right hand. That incredible tapestry of light from the chandeliers caught on the blade so it glowed white and gold. The smooth hilt grew warm.

The light shifted, hints of black, blue and brown the only warnings that Drascar wasn’t alone. He looked past two rows of bookshelves toward another balcony. The chandeliers were hanging just above eye level over the intimidating square expanse of the room. There, opposite where Drascar stood with the dagger held up awkwardly between them, was the creature, its navy head barely visible above the balcony rail. Its keen yellow eyes watched Drascar from across the expanse with eerie anticipation.

The light shifted again. Drascar caught thin rays of brown from below and quietly stepped to the balcony edge. Two hooded figures stooped over one of the desks two floors below, oblivious to Drascar and the fearsome creature studying them from above. They were panting with exhaustion and terror.

Revenge. A chill ran down Drascar’s spine. He reached out with his free hand, and the light from the chandeliers vanished.

Drascar felt safe, secure, clear, as though a little more darkness had left him. Then he heard a cry of pain as falling quartz from the broken chandeliers impaled one of the figures below. He shivered, but felt no guilt.

Past the shattered chandeliers and across the expanse, two amber eyes glowed in the darkness. Primal, predatory hate radiated across the open space. Drascar’s eyes adjusted in time to watch the creature climb onto the rail, the balcony shuddering under its weight. It perched there like a bird of prey for just a moment before launching into the abyss. In a smooth, gliding motion that seemed to last only a second, the creature flew through the blackness and pounced on the other hooded figure. Massive jaws clamped down on the helpless man’s shoulder before the creature somersaulted in mid-air, ripping the man’s body off the ground and hurling him in a cruel arc to land in a heap next to some shelves. Drascar stood there, paralyzed by such a display of abject savagery.

His eyesight continued to improve despite no visible source of light. Needle-thin rays of sea-blue light bounced off the railing and floors near him, and Drascar wondered if his own eyes were shining as bright as the creature’s.

Escape. The wave of hate from the creature dissipated, replaced by urgency. Drascar tried to ignore the two bloody heaps on the main floor and watched the creature push between a row of bookshelves before entering a passage on the far side. He knew to follow. He kept his free hand on the railing and made his way around the balcony to the spot he’d seen those yellow eyes. The railing and floor felt unstable — he stepped back, hardly eager to follow the creature’s descent to the levels below.

The marbles jangled at his side as he turned and passed through another stone passage carved into the library wall. Drascar’s vision was diminished, but thin blue light still lit his way enough to find the spiraling staircase at the passage end. He held the curved dagger in front of him and climbed down.

Drascar reached the second floor and continued, following the staircase down another level to the main floor. As he reached the final few steps, he saw the edge of the creature’s reptilian black tail flapping with impatience. He stepped down and the creature shuffled deeper into the passage, a rock tunnel that shrank in on them as they walked farther into darkness.

The tunnel curved around a broken black pillar before opening into a small cave. Smoke filled Drascar’s lungs, ominously thick and yet somehow pleasant, like the smoke from a bog or burning oil. Ahead, the creature stiffened, then jumped from rock to rock as it climbed toward the cave entrance. Drascar followed, pulling himself up a steep incline of large rocks while clutching the dagger and sometimes using the point to better grip the rocks.

Sunlight pierced the smoke as Drascar reached the entrance. He blinked in shock and almost fell backward into the cave.

The forest was on fire. Stone and wood buildings were blazing pyres of flame and smoke, black clouds gathering overhead that threatened to hide what little sun streamed through. Against one stone building Drascar saw imprints of black carbon and ash in the shapes of bodies reaching up to shield their faces from the flames. No actual bodies remained, as though the flame had burned so hot and fast that these morbid portraits were all that survived, still images of the cultists’ last waking moments.

A shadow cut through the smoke above like a hurricane. Hide. Drascar crouched as the shadow circled back, its outline in the clouds giving a clear impression of two giant wings and a thick body between a long neck and tail.

Sharp pain shot through Drascar’s head as the shadow made another pass. He thought he heard a thousand voices screaming over one another in an unintelligible language. Two more shadows came from behind to join the first, and now Drascar could make out three smaller shadows farther away to the left.

Hide. The creature lurked around the corner, keeping its body low to the ground and its eyes pinned on the sky. Drascar would have bet his new knife that those shadows above were the same as this creature. An image interrupted the thought — two packs of wolves fought over hunting grounds, oblivious to any shared ancestry. The alpha of one pack had fierce blue eyes, desperately fending off attacks from a black wolf shrouded in vile, poisoned mist. The image carried a clear message:

Not us.

The creature waited for the shadows to move away and bolted for the woods. Drascar followed, ignoring the heat as he ran with his head down. Fire jumped from tree branches and singed his jacket’s left sleeve.

He lost sight of the creature but kept running. That sense of urgency remained and felt oddly reassuring. The forest was a maze of wood, roots, and fire, each turn revealing a leafy path riddled with flames and protruding tree roots. To trip would likely be his last mistake — Drascar had heard how difficult it was to outrun a forest fire, and this inferno burned with unnatural intensity.

The forest sloped into a ravine, and Drascar slid on his backside until he hit a narrow river of dirty water. His boots sank into mud and mud-brown water rose to his waist. Flaming branches fell from trees and hissed against the water’s surface. A smaller branch hit his head. He crawled to the other side and pulled himself up using a fallen tree trunk.

The flames were scarce here, interrupted by the ravine’s descent and the river below. Drascar climbed up the other side and took a deep breath as smoke gave way to clean forest air. Sunlight began sneaking through treetops and speckled the forest floor. The rays of light streaked down like thin bars of white glass. Each ray bounced off the ground and turned into even thinner bars of green and brown that intersected one another across Drascar’s field of vision. He’d thought this way of seeing light some effect of the crystals he’d discovered, but now it was everywhere. He turned back and saw a similar effect playing on the flames above, trees and fiery branches dancing in their own tapestries of orange and red.

All Drascar’s senses remained heightened. His wet boots squished against the ground and his pants clung to his thighs. Muddy water dripped in globs from his back.

A bullet shot past Drascar’s right ear. He could have sworn he saw the lead ball in perfect detail as it passed. Instinct propelled him forward and to the left, bracing himself against a tree trunk and edging around to sneak a view of his attacker.

On a hunch, Drascar sprinted deeper into the woods. Another bullet sliced the air and ripped a hole in a tree just as he passed. Two tall men in maroon-brown coats pivoted from behind trees to Drascar’s front and left, each brandishing a long Selvar musket. They aimed at his chest and fired.

Chapter 8
The Halmard

Rhyn liked walking, but not this much. And Mister Mekkos said they were just getting started. Rhyn had no idea why Miss Elaryn brought him along. He said he was a trader, but his voice was gruff like someone who smoked lots and got into alley fights on days off.

At least he was scary. Not to Rhyn, of course — nobody scared Rhyn. But every night Mister Mekkos went out and scrapped with the wild hessen to keep them away. Elaryn said they were like big dogs, but they laughed and cackled in the night like grumpy jesters who’d just come from the tavern before performing. Rhyn almost missed watching jesters in the city squares. She even almost — almost, mind you — missed the merchant and his grumpy wife. Anything was better than these smoky hills with dead trees and too many sharp rocks.

Rhyn didn’t mind the hessen though. She liked dogs, and a laughing dog was better than a barking dog, she thought. Though she liked hound dogs better, like good ol’ Sniffer.

“Ah woo woo woo!” she howled.

“Hey!” yelled Elaryn. “What was that!?”

“Mister Sniffer,” said Rhyn. “That’s the sound he always made. He was a mutt like me!”

Miss Elaryn eased up a little.

“We have to be quiet, okay Rhyn? We’re almost out of Darumae, and then the hessen won’t bother us.”

Sure enough, a big, patchy forest appeared below the next hill, and past that Rhyn spotted a lake with black water. It was getting dark out, but Rhyn was sure she’d never seen water like that. She loved swimming, but she knew right away it’d be a bad idea and she wasn’t happy about it. No, siree. What good was a lake you couldn’t swim in?

Miss Elaryn suggested they play a game trying to find the biggest sticks, which Rhyn thought sounded like a grown-up game and not very fun. But then Rhyn spotted a long red stick that slithered away as she got closer. She almost ran after it before Mister Mekkos stomped on the moving stick and warned her to stay close. He was no fun at all. He gave Elaryn a stern look as he approached.

“What?” said Elaryn. “I had my eye on her.”

Mekkos sighed.

A few minutes later, they had enough sticks for a fire and Mister Mekkos pulled out his fancy metal rod. He pressed the black metal against the wood and Rhyn yelped with excitement as blue and red sparks shot out and caught the smaller sticks on fire. She’d seen this trick every night since they left the castle, but it still felt brand new. She hoped she could have a fire rod someday.

They sat around the fire and ate dried meat and berries. Again. Rhyn scrunched her face after every purple berry, but she actually liked them best. Sour berries were best, she always thought, and Miss Elaryn laughed every time Rhyn made her funny faces. She seemed like someone who needed to laugh more.

“How are you feeling today, Rhyn?” asked Mekkos.

“Okay, I guess,” said Rhyn.

She knew he didn’t really care. He always had more questions.

“No new nightmares?”

See?

Rhyn smiled, and Mekkos smiled back. Silly man.

“No sir,” she answered. “But two new blisters!”

She held up her foot but realized she was still wearing her boots.

“We’re almost to the river,” said Elaryn. “And then we’ll have a break from walking for a while. I promise riding the Deldran ferries will be the most fun you’ve ever had.”

“Oohh, are they fast?” asked Rhyn.

“Very,” said Elaryn with a wink.

“But not as comfortable as my wagon,” said Mekkos.

Rhyn and Elaryn both stared. Rhyn thought he was trying to make a joke. It wasn’t very funny.

Mekkos huffed and went back to eating in silence. He’d complained about having to leave his wagon every day since they left the castle — he seemed like a mister who complained a lot, when he wasn’t all gruff and serious.

“Do you miss home, Rhyn?” asked Elaryn. She always asked nice questions with a sad face.

“I miss pancakes,” said Rhyn. And lots of syrup, she thought with a grin.

Elaryn and Mekkos looked at each other with weird faces, like she’d said something strange. Who doesn’t like pancakes?

Elaryn looked ready to say more when Mekkos held up his hand. Elaryn closed her mouth and went super stern like she was ready for a fight.

“There’s a halmard watching us,” said Mekkos. “Stay quiet. No sudden moves.”

Rhyn breathed in with excitement, eyes wide and looking around in the trees.

“Ooohh, like a big cat?” she whispered.

“Exactly,” said Mekkos. “And very dangerous to people like us.”

She wanted to ask another question, but then she saw it. It was so pretty.

Elaryn must have seen Rhyn’s eyes go bigger, because she started to turn and Mekkos pulled a pistol from his waist. The halmard growled, a sharp sound like street cats about to fight, but deeper and so much scarier. Except Rhyn didn’t think the big cat meant them any trouble — it stared right at her with bright green eyes that shone in the waning light like green apple candies held in front of a candle. It had the prettiest fur she’d ever seen — shiny silver with brown and gold spots dancing all over. One of its legs dangled from the big branch it was perched on and its tail swished lazily below.

Mekkos took aim and Rhyn tried to yell, but a loud screech from above beat her to it.

The halmard leapt from its perch just as Mekkos fired wide and an enormous black shape crashed through the branches above the fire. But instead of attacking the trio below, the halmard pounced on the dark shape with a savage howl. Its prey dropped into the fire as twigs pelted Rhyn’s head, and the trio scurried away in shared confusion. All three stared as sparks and embers scattered, unsure what was happening, but Rhyn spotted snapping jaws and strange, thin wings of grey and black.

“Is that…?” started Elaryn.

“A raptor,” said Mekkos.

He dropped his pistol and pulled out his rod, flicking it forward and aiming a line of blue and red sparks at the tangle of limbs, flesh, and fire. A long, black neck shot out from the fight, but Mekkos ducked to the side and cut off the monster’s head with a quick swipe of his sword. The head bounced with splats of black blood and landed right at Rhyn’s feet.

“Stop!” yelled Rhyn.

Mekkos had just raised his sword, ready to finish the halmard with his next strike. He paused, keeping his eyes on the giant cat, and slowly stepped over to Rhyn’s side. Elaryn followed his lead, her own sword glimmering in the remaining light from the fire as she took slow, cautious steps around the predator.

The halmard tried to stand, teetering awkwardly on the dead raptor’s smoking corpse, then rolled off in a lazy tumble. Rhyn noticed a large cut on its side, and the halmard pulled its rear leg in a pained limp as it stood to eye the trio. She thought it had lonely eyes, and as she watched they flickered from green to blue. The halmard arched its back as a second screech sounded above, but its eyes were fixed on Rhyn.

Cooh’voss.

Rhyn heard the word like a whispered thought, a daydream she couldn’t resist and didn’t want to. Her legs swayed and her whole body tickled with a strange chill, like tiny goosebumps all over. The halmard started changing colors, first from silver and brown to light grey and then to a spotted white like pure snow.

A second raptor tore through the branches and dove for the group, this monster even bigger than the last and its gross-looking wings barely fitting between the trees.

“Cooh’voss,” whispered Rhyn.

A blast of cold air ripped through the forest, covering the trees in frost and freezing the raptor so it crashed with a loud thud. It thrashed and hissed, barely able to move and wheezing with strangled breaths. Elaryn looked ready to charge, but a moment later the second raptor coughed blood and toppled, staring at them with frantic but very dead eyes.

“What…?” Mekkos looked from the raptor to Rhyn with an expression of dumb shock, but then he braced with his sword and started looking left and right like a madman.

Rhyn looked too, and that’s when she realized the halmard had disappeared. A few drops of red blood staining the frost were the only evidence the beautiful animal had been there.

She traded looks with Mekkos, and she was sure he was about to ask a whole lot of questions. But then he noticed Elaryn standing past the second raptor, looking away in the direction it came from.

“What is it?” asked Mekkos, stepping over.

Elaryn didn’t answer, and she didn’t need to. Rhyn joined them and soon all three were staring with wide eyes. Past the scattered woods, now covered in a thin layer of frost, half of the big black lake had frozen over.

Mekkos glanced down at Rhyn as she wrung her hands behind her back.

“Sorry, mister,” she said.

Chapter 9
First Encounters

Bullets tore through Drascar’s chest, but he felt no pain. He still clung to the tree trunk from before, the Selvan sharpshooters somewhere out of sight, as though he had never dashed forward. As he stood there confused, the first attacker rounded the corner, raised his musket from ten paces, and fired.

Drascar was still clinging to that tree. This time he saw the scene of his death play out from a different angle — the creature watched, perched from a large branch far off to the right. Drascar’s mind relaxed as the creature studied his attackers’ movements. Seven men in those maroon coats surged out in a wide arc and caught him in a vicious crossfire. But he flashed back to that tree as though it never happened.

The visions of death came quicker and overlapped. He tried charging the first attacker and was promptly shot. In the same breath he tried running deeper into the woods like before, pivoted when the two Selvans appeared with muskets raised, and sighed relief while clinging to another trunk. The second vision vanished like the others — Drascar tried calling out to the attackers in one, tried retreating back the way he came in another, but each time he was shot or the vision blurred and vanished after a few seconds.

He’d try his luck with charging forward. He let the visions fade to the back of his mind and sprinted with all his strength. He pivoted just in time to avoid being shot, reached the tree trunk to his left, and let the visions rush back in.

These visions gave Drascar time to think. They were coming in so quickly that Drascar felt suspended outside of time, watching casually as each possible future for the next six or seven seconds unfolded before him. He dodged, he died, he ran, he ducked. His seven attackers never relented, never paused to hear him speak or surrender, and almost never missed. Selvar sharpshooters were renowned and feared for their murderous efficiency, and Drascar was facing a whole unit.

He felt calm focus settle into his bones. These visions were like a puzzle — they turned battle into a game he needed to win one move at a time. He could try each move an infinite number of times until he got it right.

In one vision Drascar tried to reach out with his mind. He thought he’d be able to catch bullets like he’d caught the creature’s acid in the cave — his definition of “possible” had been forever skewed over the last few hours, or days, or however long he’d spent in the caves and ruins below. Or was it above? He’d lost all sense of direction in his scramble to survive.

Three Selvans caught Drascar in a crossfire as he stepped out from behind the tree. He let his sphere ripple outward, and even in the vision he felt an amazing cascade of sensations as a million details invaded his awareness. Two bullets entered the sphere and stopped. They hovered there just past arm’s reach, two polished lead balls suspended in musty forest air. Beams of light caught off their surfaces and made them glow like silver suns.

Hide. The creature’s warning came with an image of looming shadows above. The vision faded. He couldn’t use his sphere, or he’d be hunted by something worse than the Selvar.

Drascar gripped the dagger and felt warm light pass between his fingers. It flew from his hand before he could think and caught his first attacker in the chest as he raised his musket. Drascar was unsure whether it was him or the creature who’d thrown it.

Instinct took over. As though in a trance, Drascar rolled out from behind the trunk and scrambled on all fours to the Selvan’s dead body. Visions raced into his head as he moved, showing that the slightest deviation would have meant a bullet in his gut. He pulled the knife free in a swift, ruthless motion, surprised by how cleanly it pulled out and by how numb he felt.

The trees were thicker here. Drascar pushed himself upright, stepped over a pool of blood, and shuffled past three more trees before crouching. The visions came in a blur, distant, as though someone else was watching them and deciding the best choice to make. Drascar was just acting, a pawn in a great game.

Two bayonets probed a gap between trees to Drascar’s left. Drascar slipped to the right and came out behind the Selvans. He had them. The first sharpshooter noticed the movement but had to raise the long barrel of his musket to start turning. Drascar used those two seconds to stab the Selvan in the neck.

The second Selvan began spinning while flipping the musket in his hands so the crude bayonet, a harsh and simple blade attached to the end of his gun, now pointed to Drascar’s heart. Drascar deflected the musket, then twisted so the barrel caught on the dagger’s serrated edge. He heard movement to the right — three more attackers advanced. Drascar swept his arm out in a wide circle, guiding the musket with his blade so the Selvan tripped forward and stood between Drascar and the sharpshooters. One musket fired as Drascar ducked, stabbed the Selvan in the side, and used the momentum of pulling the dagger free to spin and leap between two trees.

A bullet blasted a small hole in one of the trunks. The faintest trickle of blood revealed that it had passed through the closer Selvan first. These Selvans were cold and cruel.

The visions flooded in.

This time Drascar saw the last thirty seconds played over and over at lightning speed. He’d killed three Selvan sharpshooters at close range with a dagger. Each new vision replayed the memory with tiny variations, a cool, calculating process that let him study the battle. He’d moved on blind trust, acting out visions that showed him succeeding, but now his mind was trying to understand. He saw himself throw the knife at the first attacker a dozen times, each throw more precise and lethal. In some visions he stabbed the next two Selvans in different spots or used his free hand to knock away their muskets. In one, he grabbed the third Selvan’s musket and fired at another, but this gave the gun’s owner time to wrestle Drascar until his back was turned and open to the others’ raised muskets. He’d made the right choice.

Drascar’s memories began to blur. He returned to the present with newfound confidence. To his mind, this was not his first military encounter at close range, a rarity for an artillery captain. To him, he’d just tossed dozens of knives with perfect precision, stabbed countless enemies, and ruthlessly wrestled, slammed, thrown, knocked or jarred the last Selvan before scurrying to cover. His relived memories felt like new experiences, each honing skills he’d never imagined learning.

There were four Selvans left. Three hovered over their two fallen comrades a few paces back. The last turned a corner farther off to the right and fell into a pile of leaves and branches, Drascar’s dagger protruding from his maroon coat. Drascar could still feel the warm glow of the dagger’s black and gold hilt leaving his hand. He willed it back, and the dagger flew through the air in a spinning blur before the hilt slid seamlessly into his hand.

Hunt. The creature was still perched in the branches, watching everything with predator’s eyes. Drascar saw himself as the prey here, three trained killers closing in. To the creature, the Selvans were hunter’s prey herded together for easy pickings. The monster that had so recently pursued him now seemed to anticipate, even relish, Drascar’s survival. Drascar felt like a wolf pup being coaxed to kill by a proud alpha.

In his mind Drascar saw an image of retracted claws, a wild cat about to pounce without its most dangerous weapons bared. He felt heat against his thigh. From inside their red-silver pouch, the five gold orbs began to glow with faint orange light. Drascar pulled the drawstring loose and caught his breath as all five metal orbs shot up to eye level. They floated there in a cluster and drew Drascar’s gaze, rays of light catching on their polished surfaces like gleaming glass bridges.

Time stopped. His focus brought the metal to life. The orbs shot out to either side, ricocheted off tree trunks, and propelled themselves toward the Selvans. Visions of the next seven seconds filled Drascar’s consciousness. At first he tried to control the orbs, but concentrating on them brought on a dull headache, even in the visions. When he relinquished control, it was like a weight coming off his shoulders, freeing him to focus on the enemy.

The orbs struck, circled in the air, and struck again. The first Selvan took an orb to the shin — Drascar heard an awful crack as the man lost balance and tripped forward. Drascar took the opportunity to step out, catching the injured Selvan in the throat with a horizontal swipe as he tried to regain his footing. The other two men stumbled into each other, one having been knocked in the head and the other taking two orbs to the chest with such force that Drascar heard the crunch of ribs breaking as the Selvan collided with his comrade.

In his visions, the next two seconds were crucial. The men fumbled with their muskets and the Selvan with cracked ribs fired without aiming, a reckless shot that nevertheless caught Drascar in the head or upper arm in three consecutive visions before he learned to step closer and deflect the musket before it fired. These failed attempts never hurt — they simply vanished in the flood of new visions.

Three orbs caught the men in their backs as the other two metal terrors shot at their feet. Drascar had little challenge slashing the closest Selvan across the arm, a fierce gash that made him drop his musket. Reaching for the gun in his visions proved futile, so Drascar used his free hand to knock the maimed arm down before stepping in and slipping the blade between the Selvan’s ribs.

The odds were even now. The last attacker proved the fiercest, like a cornered tiger with those soul-rending, determined eyes. That reckless shot meant his musket was empty, but Drascar was well within reach of the gun’s sharp bayonet. Selvan muskets were almost long enough to act as spears.

The man flipped his musket and lunged with a backhanded stab. Drascar tried to parry with his knife but the maneuver was too awkward — the vision faded as the bayonet caught him in the side.

His mind flashed to a second earlier. He tried pulling his dagger out faster from the other Selvan’s ribs, but the momentum carried his hand too far in the opposite direction — he couldn’t parry, and the bayonet caught him in the gut.

Again. He relinquished the dagger, stepping back empty-handed. Three gold spheres shot at the man’s chest as he tried to follow. He groaned as already-cracked ribs shattered. The man fell to one knee and Drascar stepped in, trying to catch the musket’s barrel. He took a bayonet through the right palm instead. Still painless, but the gaping wound in his hand made Drascar pause.

He let the vision fade and tried again. This time Drascar stepped back, let the flying metal pass to stall his opponent, then stepped back again. His boot bent over the long cylinder of a musket. He crouched and rolled, picking up the gun in one smooth motion, raised the barrel, aimed at the Selvan, and fired.

The gun kicked against Drascar’s shoulder — he kept his eyes forward. The shot tore into the man’s forehead and he slumped back in fixed surprise.

It was over. The orbs fell to the ground, several rolling in bright red blood. The visions disappeared and the rays of light across Drascar’s view faded into empty space. He saw the world now as he’d seen it before the pit, and it felt mundane.

Crack. A sharp crack and a louder crashing sound echoed through the woods. Drascar stepped over the last Selvan’s body in the sound’s direction, where he knew the creature would be. He felt dazed. His legs moved with brisk determination despite the exertion of the last few minutes, but mental fatigue clouded his thinking.

There. The creature lay in a tangled heap below a disheveled tree, splintered stubs in the tree’s trunk marking where two large branches broke as the creature fell.

Drascar’s dizzy thoughts told him finding the creature made sense. He knew he hadn’t been the one controlling the floating orbs during the fight. He also hadn’t thrown the dagger at his first attacker — this creature had some interest in his survival he couldn’t fathom.

Better the demon you know. Alone, he’d be an easy target for any more Selvar scouting the woods. And behind him lay only raging fire, murderous zealots, and soaring monsters.

Still, his last thought before his mind spiraled out of control was that he didn’t like feeling compelled — he’d spent too long at the mercy of others’ whims, malice, and crazed philosophies.

Visions of the Selvar scouts invaded his mind in a tangled cascade. Like before, he witnessed variations of his memories, each time taking a different step or striking at a different angle. But before, he had some control over the visions — he chose what to do and watched the outcomes. Now, his choices felt made for him. Like in a dream, he watched himself think and behave in ways he’d have thought out of character. The Selvans were no longer the hunters but the prey. And even without the creature’s support, he slaughtered his enemy without mercy again and again. In his visions he stalked the Selvans and picked them off one at a time or threw out a sphere of control and turned their own guns against them. His dagger flew with graceful precision, and his hands became pounding fists or swift grapples that broke bones and necks with ease. Each vision was more savage than the last, until Drascar felt sure he’d torn apart the entire Selvan army in his dreams.

New visions began to overlap with the battle. No sense of time or order or narrative drove his visions — they pieced together the worst moments of his recent life like a montage of horror. He found himself running through underground structures, pinned to cave floors by the creature’s clawed wings, or burned in screaming agony by black acid. Then he relived the pit of writhing black eels, unseen creatures of slime slithering and dissolving him into emptiness. He felt his lungs give out in the painless horror that defines nightmares, but to his memory, that terror, that torture, had been very real. And then he saw that shapeless, malevolent face, that beast of shadow and mist, demon truer than any myth, evil felt as much as seen. But here his visions fell short of the memory — they couldn’t recreate the depth of malice Drascar felt in that moment, or the strange sense of clarity and recognition that accompanied it.

When the visions finally faded, Drascar found himself lying face-first in a pile of branches and dead leaves. The creature lay motionless a few paces away. An overcast sky gave off the faint scent of smoke, dark clouds painted pink and orange from the setting sun to the west and red-orange from fires still raging to the east.

For no reason beyond impulse, Drascar pushed himself up, staggered over to a nearby tree, and climbed. Maybe he just wanted a better view of the sunset.

He’d loved climbing trees as a child. And he’d received one of only two disciplinary actions at Fort Teimra military training for climbing a tree even shorter than this one. Like he was supposed to know about obscure regulations on his second day. Apparently even the slightest risk to an artillery captain’s life was unacceptable. Your life in the army was entirely expendable, but only at another’s beckon.

He reached the highest branch he’d hazard his weight on and realized he was free. The battle at the Plains of Komrii had been a last-ditch effort to turn the tide of war, and Drascar was sure they’d lost. He’d seen the Selvan army descend on Ceremai’s militia, trapped in the open between unfit ruins behind and towering cliffs to the side. It was a tactical disaster, and Drascar had little doubt the generals paid for it with their lives. Selvar wasn’t known for its mercy. They fought to exterminate and expand, rarely to conquer. The war was over, and Ceremai with it.

There was nothing to celebrate, but from his perch in the tree Drascar felt weightless. He breathed in the smell of burning wood and felt the branches sway in a steady breeze.

The view was extraordinary. To the west, vast forests of lush green dipped into another low ravine before climbing up a mountain range as far as the eye could see. To the north, a winding path of green treetops curved between the mountains and disappeared into an unseen valley. Probably how the Selvar scouts got here — followed the river. There would be more that way.

To the south and east, the terrible fire still raged, largely contained by the ravines to the north and mountains to the west and south. The compound was in ruins. Black smoke darker than the rest marked where buildings had been toppled. Orange rays of light shot up into the clouds, much like rays of sunlight trying to sneak through clouds on an overcast day, except this light came up from the forest canopy to be crudely blocked by black and grey masses of vapor and smoke. The orange beams flickered and vanished, and Drascar heard a rumbling growl as the creature stirred in its sleep below.

Drascar looked back toward the clouds in time to see a winged monster larger than any beast he knew emerge at whirlwind speed. The monster dove toward the compound ruins, extended its wings, and shot past burning debris with enough force to raise clouds of dust and embers in its wake.

Even from this distance, Drascar could make out the forms of three hooded figures sprinting from the doorway of a fallen stone tower. The monster was on them in a heartbeat. It made a fierce turn mid-flight, flapped its bat-like wings in a single, powerful motion, and shot toward its prey like a giant tan-brown spear. For the smallest fraction of a second Drascar thought the monster looked like a larger, less sickly version of the creature below him, until the monster shot out liquid fire in a stream of yellow and orange. The blast engulfed the fleeing figures and burned with such intensity that the earth beneath them erupted in an explosion of charred black dirt.

Three more monsters flew down from the clouds farther east. They had prey of their own and took turns swooping or circling above while moving along the southern edge of the mountains.

It looked like the end of the world.

Three things happened then in near-perfect unison.

Sharp pain erupted in Drascar’s head, as though someone had struck a bell next to his ear. The creature below awoke with a roar of agony — it felt the pain too.

At arm’s reach above Drascar’s perch, the sky cracked open, as though the empty air were glass that had been smashed by a hammer. Out of this fissured space fell a sword. Drascar caught a blur of gold, black, and red as it fell through the branches and plunged blade-first into the dirt.

Above the ruined compound, the clouds exploded open, parting in an expanding circle of clashing blue lightning. Two flying monsters caught in the lightning fell lifeless into the fire and smoke below. Out of this ring of blue lightning emerged a grey and black shape.

It was massive. That high up, to still look so grand, the shape had to be the size of a mountain. To Drascar’s eyes, that’s what it looked like: an inverted mountain, its broad base shrouded in the clouds and its peak slanted down toward the compound’s heart. It crept down out of the clouds at a snail’s pace.

Streaks of red light suddenly lit up the sky. Each long beam of bright red burst out from different points in the mass of grey and black, powerful enough to leave a dark purple afterimage across Drascar’s vision. He watched in stunned fascination as one beam caught a flying monster and ripped it in half. Another beam shot into the clouds, and smoking remnants of charred flesh fell to the burning forest below.

Red beams blasted three more monsters out of the sky before a swarm of at least twenty descended on the ship. It had to be a ship, an enormous flying frigate with cannons that shot light instead of metal. What else? And now the ship was burning. Ripples of blue-green light scattered along the ship’s surface, dissipating as liquid fire clung to the ship’s sides.

Body after body fell from the sky with each burst of red light. The monsters swooped to their deaths, bodies painted in reds, greens, blues, browns, and blacks, most managing to add to the fire before being shot down. The ship now looked like a raging volcano, a fiery mountain falling from the clouds with increasing velocity. Pieces of smoking metal and debris broke off from the ship and fell before it, raining destruction on what remained of the compound below.

The ship’s base finally escaped the clouds, dim blue light emanating from wide metal cylinders. And seconds later, the ship’s nose crashed into the earth. Dirt, rock, and trees scattered from the spot in a violent wave, giving way to a series of small explosions as the ship’s head collapsed in on itself. Monsters circled above in triumph.

The next explosion came without warning. The last thing Drascar saw was a shockwave that bent the air, toppled trees and flattened hills in every direction, throwing him from his perch before his world was engulfed in a yellow inferno.

Chapter 10
Coral Springs

The vision collapsed. Drascar was still in his perch, his eyes burning from the imagined explosion. Avoiding that future was an obvious priority.

He reached for a branch to his right and almost took his hand back. Light was everywhere, resplendent and overwhelming. Rays in all colors still shot through the air, but now every tree, branch, leaf, and even patches of moss and dirt below radiated brilliant beams in the objects’ hues. Some objects gave off more light than others — tree trunks and leaves competed with one another in mesmerizing clashes of brown and green. Dead leaves and dirt below shone with faded light that still added to the moment’s beauty, like a weak aurora competing with the light of a full moon in the night sky.

The creature below shone in bright blues and greens, the last hints of black scales receding while it slept. Its light was second only to that of the sword plunged into the dirt a few paces from the creature’s furled wing.

Drascar grabbed the closest branch, noticing how his fingers followed the branch’s rippling light to find the perfect grip. The action was automatic. He swung down and landed with each foot on a new branch with perfect balance. And from here he was low enough to leap down between the branches to the forest floor, jumping into a sea of green-brown light that pulsed with energy as he landed. Dropping from a tree had never been so fun.

He turned to the sword. Overhead, the first beam of red energy burst through the air, leaving a purple afterimage barely visible through the treetops. The sword grew brighter.

Drascar approached and for a moment studied the hilt. Most of the blade, which radiated gold light but looked more like smoky glass, was submerged in the dirt. The hilt alone drew attention anyway — the whole piece was shaped from three metal serpents intertwined, black and silver scales etched into their bodies with perfect detail. The upper portion of two serpent bodies formed the sword’s crossguard, angled up to catch enemy blades, with hungry serpent faces looking out to either side. The third serpent’s head was larger than the others and slanted at the nose, jaw open just enough to look like it was eating the golden blade. All three tails narrowed below the crossguard and coiled around each other in an intricate braid to form the grip. At the pommel, the tails wrapped around a carved red ruby so clear and brilliant that Drascar was sure it would sell for a fortune. The lower half of the ruby narrowed away from the hilt with six long, polished faces that ended at a fierce point.

The ruby flashed orange. More red and purple beams streaked across the clouded sky, and Drascar knew he was running out of time. He grabbed the strange hilt, surprised by how comfortable the grip was in his hand, and felt his mind sucked into a spinning vortex. He was floating, barely aware of his body.

Another vision. A warning. He couldn’t make it out. A tall figure cloaked in black — with metallic armor in navy, black, and gold showing at the hands, feet, and neck — lashed out with the snake-hilted sword, golden blade glowing orange as though on fire. A jaw shot out of the surrounding darkness, the savage mouth lined with serrated teeth and open wider than five grown men. The vision faded, replaced only by empty space filled with shadow. And in that darkness was black mist, a dead-eyed beast searching the void with cruel intelligence. That soul-stifling terror, that malevolent unseen presence from the cave, returned in earnest.

Under the empire it waits.

The sword was speaking to him. Not quite with words — the thought formed in Drascar’s own mind. What came from the sword felt more like impressions, intentions, each coded with vast stores of information that sent Drascar’s mind spinning. It was like feeling the creature’s thoughts, just infinitely more complex. There was nothing animal to this entity touching Drascar’s mind — it was alive, sophisticated, powerful, and aware.

And then Drascar felt its loss. He felt in that moment the sorrow of a thousand lifetimes. There was an abruptness to the weight the entity carried, as though in an instant a million close friendships and connections had simply vanished, replaced by mind-numbing emptiness.

The image of the cloaked figure holding the sword returned. To the entity Drascar felt in the sword, this figure meant something. A midnight-blue mask of metal, a fierce helmet molded tightly to the figure’s head, hid the man’s face, but a narrow slot of clear glass exposed his eyes.

Drascar’s eyes.

The figure Drascar saw was imposing and terrible. He fought off a horde armed with spears, swords, and shields like they were play-toys, dancing between them and striking them down with deft, savage sweeps of that flaming gold blade. A swarm of flying monsters as big as oaks swept through the back ranks of soldiers with streams of fire. Fields of wheat spat up black smoke like furnace exhaust, and off in the distance a harbor full of towering ships with triangle sails burned in bright yellows and oranges. Everywhere Drascar looked he saw calamity and devastation.

The vision faded, replaced by a sense of concentration.

Drascar felt focused, that timeless, strainless attention one has when absorbed in a challenging task. He’d felt it in the early skirmishes of the war. He’d been tasked with leading a gun crew at one of the forward forts along the Selvan border. During those early attacks it was hard to feel afraid. There was too much chaos, too much noise. The soldiers had felt confusion, yes, but not fear. They hadn’t known any better.

Fort Valarn fell in three quick raids. But oh, what a feeling. Drascar loved the thrill of leading his artillery team, the small tyranny of keeping his fellow conscripts to task amid flying splinters and blinding smoke. His team worked in a frenzy and gave their worst — exploding shells from that narrow bronze cannon shattered trees in the woods where Selvan artillery had positioned themselves. Return fire blasted wood beams to either side into smoking debris. A quick calculation from his second, Graveck, the slightest pull of the crank to angle the gun, and another shot from Drascar’s team struck true, setting off a booming explosion in the forest that left a crater in the treeline. They’d hit a Selvan gunner and caught enemy ammunition in the fire.

The whole team had shared in the thrilling awe of that destructive moment. Speaking for himself, the rest of the battle felt cold and empty by comparison, their next few shots dispersing ranks of Selvan sharpshooters lined up in the field by the fort’s gate. It was harder to maintain such pure excitement when striking at enemies close enough to see their faces. But even when forced to retreat, the rush of battle, that focused power yanked from one’s core by the threat of death, never fully subsided. Drascar didn’t believe in the war, but he made the most of it. And how good that felt sent a chill down his spine.

Drascar’s mind emptied, but the feeling of concentration remained. He was floating, caught in a river of disjointed thoughts. And suddenly the world hurled out of focus. The visions disappeared, replaced by the air shattering again like glass. Drascar was sucked into the fissured air, sword still in hand, and the creature’s massive body followed.

They landed with a splash in a shallow pool, their bodies a tangled heap thrashing about in the lukewarm water. A series of smaller splashes followed, and Drascar looked down to see five golden orbs and the curved dagger settling at the pool’s rock floor.

The creature’s enormous wing knocked Drascar back — he barely caught his balance as the creature climbed out of the pool. The water was seeping into his boots and pants, so Drascar reached for the dagger’s smooth black handle and followed.

He climbed out onto a shelf of coral orange and yellow rock, sword and dagger in hand. The forest was gone. Coral cliffs rose and dropped in scattered plateaus, barring Drascar from seeing more than a few hundred paces in any direction. But the setting sun was unobstructed here, and over a ridge to the southeast Drascar caught sight of mountain tops and smoke-black clouds.

And just as Drascar got his bearings, a bright orange flash erupted in the clouds, leaving a shadowy afterimage of the mountains’ silhouettes. Silence followed. From this distance there were no howling winds, no fiery explosive heat. But Drascar knew he’d narrowly escaped a cataclysm the likes of which he’d never imagined.

The creature’s head appeared by Drascar’s side, looking up at the fiery display and nudging Drascar’s arm with a shudder. Affection. Hardly a reaction Drascar would have expected.

The creature lingered a moment, then turned and leapt off the shelf to a lower plateau. It hobbled awkwardly between more pools of water, sniffing each until it found one with tentacles of steam rising from its surface. The creature plopped in with an enormous splash, churning the hot water as it turned back and forth in search of a comfortable position. Once most of its body and tail were settled in the water, it propped its head on the pool’s edge and looked up to where Drascar stood watching the scene with amusement. Its amber eyes shone with keen interest — waiting, curious.

From above, Drascar saw that most of its body and wings were now a dark indigo blue, with a few larger interruptions of pine green, including a green diamond shape on the crest of the creature’s head that ended between those glowing eyes. And sprouting on either side of this diamond were the beginnings of horns, black as onyx. Black like the metal in the underground pillars, like the metal worked into the dagger’s hilt.

And black like the serpentine hilt. He looked down at the sword hanging loose by his side. Great, he thought. Another blade without a scabb—

Energy and focus pulsed through the coiled hilt, interrupting Drascar’s thought. Five gold orbs shot up out of the pool. The dagger flew from his hand and settled in the air next to the floating metal, and two orbs shot away from the rest. One collided with the dagger and sent it spinning through the air. The other orb flew at Drascar and struck the sword with enough force to knock it from his hand.

A soft rumble came from the creature’s direction, almost like a cat’s purr. It was watching the scene unfold from below.

Drascar felt new energy now, something bright and calm like the light he’d felt in the cave before that vile black mist had dispersed. The gold orbs began to glow orange, three floating on their own and flying in tight concentric circles. The orb touching the dagger melded to the blade’s shape like hot liquid poured over the white steel. The molten gold multiplied and expanded until the whole curved blade was concealed, and as the orange glow faded, the metal turned black. The dagger floated over to Drascar and he grabbed it by the hilt, reaching with his left hand to feel the new scabbard. The material was hard but flexible, like polished black leather. The scabbard had a thick silver head and a silver ring and clip at the opening.

Drascar looked down to the sword floating at an angle just above the ground. Molten gold now encased the long blade and with a final pulse of orange turned into a silver-trimmed black scabbard.

Whatever was happening here, Drascar was beginning to like it. But he had far more questions than answers, and the world was getting more confusing by the minute.

Drascar looked at the dagger for a moment, trying to decide which side of his belt it should go on. He settled on the right — the sword would need to be on his left side to draw with his right hand, and the dagger he could draw backhanded for quick encounters. He’d need to learn to use both — something told him those Selvan scouts were the first of many enemies to come. His father always said power draws enemies as surely as it corrupts.

The dagger fastened to his belt, Drascar turned back to the sword and grabbed it out of the air. The coiling black ridges of the hilt felt warm to the touch. He felt another wave of that same sadness, that same overwhelming sense of loss. But Drascar was amazed by how light the blade was in his hand, even with the added weight of its new scabbard. Most of the weight was in the hilt, and a quick flourish of his wrist nearly sent the sword flying from his hand.

He drew off the scabbard with his left hand and made a few lunges and parrying motions with his right. The blade was shorter than a fencing rapier and wider by at least a finger. It looked more like an ornate medieval longsword, except the smoky gold blade sliced through the air with the grace, speed, and precision of a mastercraft balanced sword. A Ceremai officer had let him swing one during the early days after conscription, more to emphasize the officer’s high rank than to welcome his new underlings. That officer would have wept with jealousy over the sword in Drascar’s hand.

He returned the sword to its scabbard, switched hands, and fastened his new weapon to the left side of his belt just in front of the tiger-eye silk bag.

The sack’s drawstring loosened. Drascar looked up and saw two of the three remaining gold orbs begin to glow. Still floating in circles, the two orbs seemed to melt and expand, splitting into two new orbs equal in size to the originals. All five orbs continued floating in an intricate pattern around some invisible center.

Back to five, thought Drascar. Now, if you really wanted to impress—

The two new orbs began to glow and promptly split. Now there were seven. Well that’s just showing off. Drascar heard a strange rumble from the creature below and looked down to see hints of a toothy grin along its long jaw. He could have sworn the creature was laughing. And he felt something like amusement in the back of his head, mixed with something like satisfied pride from the sword. So bizarre.

The seven orbs slowed, then flew in an orderly line over to Drascar and slipped into the tiger-eye sack. He drew the drawstring tight and looked around.

He was entirely unfamiliar with this terrain. From the sun and the distant view of mountaintops and that earlier explosion to the southeast, his best guess placed them southwest of Selvar and hopefully out of danger. He was grateful for the respite, but coral cliffs and hot springs would make for poor shelter and even poorer sources of sustenance.

Come to think of it, Drascar wasn’t hungry. He felt relaxed, but it was that tarnished sort of peace where the body remains tense, unconvinced that danger has passed. These cliffs felt too exposed. The creature must have agreed, because Drascar felt an expanded sense of awareness from below before the creature shot up into the sky.

Drascar stared in awe as the creature ascended toward the clouds. Its bat-like wings barely moved. There had been a strange stillness around the creature, then a ripple of energy through the air, and then with explosive force the creature’s body had pushed off the cliff. A plopping splash of steamy water scattered across the coral plateau a second later. Now the creature continued flying straight up with enough raw power that the air seemed to split in its wake.

Drascar’s head began to spin, and without warning his view of the cliffs and pools around him was interrupted by a landscape of white clouds stretched out like rolling hills. He felt the rush of wind on his skin and currents of air bending to his will — pure exhilaration.

The creature looked down through a gap in the clouds. Drascar saw himself from across a vast expanse of air and had to hold out his arms for balance. He’d never been afraid of heights, but this was beyond normal vertigo. The dizziness wore off as his mind reconciled the two views. But Drascar stood very still and took a few deep breaths before attempting to move again.

The creature’s gaze shifted north, and something moved between two cliffs a few hundred paces from where Drascar stood. The creature’s perspective receded into the back of Drascar’s mind, like a daydream imagined with perfect clarity without impairing his view of the real world. And Drascar’s surroundings suddenly became alive with light — beams of coral-orange and yellow rose off the cliffs and slowly increased in intensity. The rays of light were brightest above the steaming pools, pillars of vibrant blue, purple, and orange that seemed to respond to the heat below.

Ripples of green, brown, black, and blue began to impede the light to Drascar’s north. A small tangle of these new colors climbed over one ridge and moved toward Drascar between two coral plateaus.

Drascar’s right arm made an involuntary lurch to his side. His hand gripped the serpentine hilt and Drascar looked down in time to witness the sword collapse in on itself. The black scabbard and blade within were absorbed into the twisting metal of the hilt, and the black serpents came alive. Their bodies shrank and coiled around Drascar’s middle finger, dragging the hilt’s ruby and repositioning it above Drascar’s knuckle. Shimmering red light pulsed through the ruby as it shrank into a polished orb no wider than his finger. The sword had transformed into a ring, three serpent heads eating their own tails along the ruby’s edge while their bodies clung comfortably to Drascar’s finger.

Drascar held up his hand and studied the ring. He was impressed, confused, and more than a little troubled. His arm had moved without effort or volition.

This loss of control made him uneasy. He’d always resented domineering types who thought the world owed them obedience. Even when granted limited authority over others, Drascar had made special effort to never abuse that power. But there was more to his discomfort than distaste for control or abuse of power.

What he hated was susceptibility. He hated feeling caught up in events beyond his control, and he especially hated feeling caught up in the greed and ideologies of warmongers and zealots. Somehow, his arm moving without his control felt just like being swept up in the mania that marked Ceremai’s war for independence. He felt like someone else had stepped in before he’d had a moment to think and made his choices for him. Again.

He felt susceptible. And if his arm could be commandeered, he was afraid to discover what else was no longer his to control.

Movement to the north cut off Drascar’s stray thought. There were people coming around a bend between two cliffs, a gap that formed a pathway right to where Drascar stood looking down on the newcomers. To Drascar’s eyes, the small company seemed ablaze with light in the colors of their garments — one in the back stood out immediately. Black jacket, hints of brown at the collar, and navy pants — a Ceremai infantry uniform. He had a long, bladeless musket strapped to his shoulder. Two women in green-brown garb flanked him, their left hands resting gently on the hilts of long, curved swords. To Drascar they were as likely the man’s bodyguard as his captors.

Four men in similar dark green pants and brown vests led the group. Three raised their muskets in alarm at the shadowy figure looming over them. Drascar raised his hands but sensed no threat — quick flashes in his mind showed him several versions of the conversation about to transpire. He wasn’t their target. The rest of these sudden visions were jumbled and distorted, but he was strangely at ease considering the muskets aimed at his chest.

“Ho there!” The front marksman called out just as the Ceremai infantryman edged forward.

“He’s one of ours! That’s a captain’s uniform.” The man half yelled the explanation, clearly anxious to prevent a casualty. The front three men lowered their guns as the fourth stepped forward.

Drascar lowered his hands and hopped to a lower plateau on his right. A shorter jump down brought him to within a few paces of the strangers.

“Valdaris Drascar, Ceremai artillery captain, fourth regiment out of Brasos.”

His introduction startled the newcomers, but he noticed a subtle shift in the Ceremai soldier from awed respect to mild disdain. Artillery captains led a small team instead of a full squad of soldiers and rarely saw battle up close — they were “fake” captains and didn’t command the same respect and dignity from the ranks. Drascar was used to it and hardly minded — he’d been satisfied with his post and uninterested in martial glory.

“Did you see it?” asked the one man without a musket. There was fire in his eyes, anger and fear commingled. Neither was directed at Drascar. “How many in the area?”

“The creature?”

Of course, they had to have seen it take off. Drascar felt oddly protective, but he figured a beast that could soar so high and fast was far beyond the reach of a few musketeers.

“The dragon, you daft fool,” came the curt reply. “A whole swarm attacked the Varessi springs last week and flew off toward the Daemori mountains. We’ve been tracking three through these cliffs. No way a lone soldier could survive here out in the open. And the one we just saw was new… smaller.”

Dragons. The name fit the monsters he’d seen above Tarvor’s compound — fire-breathing monsters out of legend.

“I thought dragons were fire breathers, sir,” Drascar said with propriety for good measure. He assumed he was speaking to the leader. “That creature pursued me through some caverns in the mountains and spat out acid.”

“A reject,” said the Ceremai soldier, stepping forward. “We’ve found some like that in their abandoned nests. Deformed reptiles that fail to develop. We’re unsure why. They still put up a fight. I saw that acid tear a man in half before he knew he was melting. I’d have been next if not for a lucky shot between the eyes.”

Drascar got his first good look at the man who’d identified his uniform. His head was the perfect image of an upturned egg. He was balding but young, with his nose and eyes veered at the slightest angle so everything about the man looked askew. Drascar guessed his age at somewhere in the late thirties, perhaps a year or two ahead of himself. And he spoke with the friendly arrogance of someone who thought himself better than everyone but believed, quite mistakenly, that a kind and informative tone was enough to disguise the attitude conveyed by his gruff posture and the greedy gleam in his eyes. Drascar liked him immediately.

“So there might be more nests in the Daemori mountains,” the leader said with a calculating tone. “If this stray came from there it will doubtless return, and I have no intention of leading us anywhere near the Selvans. As I see it, it’s their problem now.”

“Agreed,” said the woman to the egg-head’s right. “If this one in the flashy uniform can walk around these cliffs unhindered, I’d say our prey’s moved on.”

The others nodded but remained silent. “We’ll regroup at the Varessi springs. Plenty of time for our new friend to tell us how in schatha he made it out of a dragon nest alive. And whose blood that is on his sleeve.”

Drascar looked down and spotted the crimson blotched stain on his left sleeve. Brown and red drops formed a small constellation in the navy fabric. He doubted he could pass it off as his own — his suit was worn and dirty, but any wound large enough to leave that much blood would have left a tear. And he had no cuts to show them if they decided to check for themselves. He hadn’t thought of it until now, but his shoulder wound was gone.

Then again, he sensed no love lost between these strangers and the Selvar. He could probably get away with telling some version of the truth.

“If he’s had it since the war ended, it’s a wonder there aren’t a whole lot more blood stains,” the Ceremai musketeer said in his defense. “Even for an artillery captain.”

He added that last with a smirk.

Chapter 11
Springs of Shadow

The strangers were Siivalan, serfs of Selvar. Their subjugated kingdom was built into the rocky hills and forests southwest of the Selvar highlands. Dain Baerd, the egg-headed Cereman, joined them after being cut off from his platoon during the last skirmishes of the war on the western front. The Siivalans despised their overlords and were happy to add trained refugees to their ranks. One day, the Siivalan resistance would put them to use.

The war ended two years ago. Drascar had to stifle his confusion while Dain told his story. The battle at Komrii had been just a week ago at most. But no… Drascar felt in his bones that Dain spoke true, even if the musketeer had an annoying propensity for exaggerating his exploits. Somehow, Drascar had lost a full two years in those nightmarish caverns.

Drascar felt numb to the news that followed. Ceremai’s military crumbled after Komrii. Survivors rallied villagers and townsfolk before fleeing east. The Selvar burned and salted everything in their path, leaving a land devoid of life and emptied of resources the Naemredd empire might have salvaged. And so the remaining people of Ceremai found themselves reabsorbed into the empire they had escaped, now without hope of returning to the home of their ancestors.

The group’s captain, Seth Peltan, became far more agreeable over the next few days. When he wasn’t giving directives to the others or watching the skies, he was unusually quiet — pensive even. He assented to Drascar joining them on their return journey to Siivala, but something in his eyes told Drascar he still had questions. Questions he had no intention of asking, as it turned out, but he kept a watchful gaze on the newcomer.

The two women were an anomaly to Drascar. Sevora and Melladar were twins, close to a decade his junior, with olive skin and jet-black hair that barely reached their shoulders. That first night, they cast off their brown cloaks and drew their curved swords to practice while the men set up camp against the cliffside. Their battle was fierce and terrifying. Silver, gleaming blades sang out as they clashed beside the campfire, moving with such grace and speed that Drascar could barely track their movement. They wore sleeveless tunics under their dark leather vests, and the sisters’ arms dripped with sweat by the battle’s end. But neither lost their breath or composure, neither took so much as a scratch from her opponent despite their shared ferocity, and neither called for the duel to end.

As if by previous agreement, the practice session ended after an hour with one final collision of the swords, the sisters stepping back with polite bows and returning the blades to ornate red leather scabbards. Drascar noticed the captain wore a similar blade, though his was plain and unremarkable. Theirs had polished wooden hilts that curved gently in the opposite direction of the blades. Seth’s had a grey metal hilt with a black cord coiled around it to improve the grip.

The sisters were cold and insular without being abrasive, yet they clung to Dain Baerd as if anticipating each boastful remark he made. True, he had a certain magnetism that drew people in, but his skewed features and insecurity were so obvious that Drascar might have resented the twins’ gullibility if not for his own growing friendship with the Cereman.

Two days passed before the group emerged from the coral cliffs. No dragons pursued them, but escaping the open plateaus to scattered woods and rolling green hills put the Siivalans at ease. Drascar felt distracted but safe, finally able to let down his guard after the cascade of events in the previous days. He found himself fidgeting with the coiled ring whenever he had time to rest. Nothing answered. And in the skies he saw no sign of the acid-spewing creature. His mind still had difficulty reconciling the stunted, deformed monster he’d fled from in the caves and the majestic but horrifying beasts out of myth he’d witnessed above the forest enclave.

Some dark recess of Drascar’s mind still felt the creature… and the ring. Every time the three Siivalan musketeers set out to hunt or scout ahead, a pulse passed through the base of Drascar’s skull. The ring constricted around his finger, a feeling of calculating concentration again invading his awareness. And the stunted dragon would respond with fiery determination, changing course to evade its pursuers. Drascar witnessed this exchange in his mind like a bystander to a conversation between good friends indifferent to intruders and newcomers.

Drascar was used to feeling on the edge of others’ conversations. He was social but often reserved. As a captain he’d been committed to keeping his team close-knit, but he’d always needed time to himself off-duty while the others drank in fort taverns to wash away the stains of war. He thrived in the middle and liked it that way.

“Vald, I’ve wanted to ask — what’s with the dagger?” Dain asked with feigned timidity. In truth, he wasn’t shy about anything.

“Found it in the same caves as the dragon while passing through the Daemoris,” said Drascar, unsure how he felt about his new nickname.

“May I?” Dain held out his open hand.

The others around the fire leaned in as Drascar unsheathed the curved dagger. Its white steel blade shimmered in the large fire they’d built tonight with foraged wood from the nearby glen. Two Siivalan musketeers were on watch, but no one anticipated any dragons tonight.

Something strange happened as Dain’s hand closed over the dagger’s black and gold hilt. His face twisted into a cruel grin that vanished as quickly as it appeared. The others were too busy looking at the dagger in his hand to notice, but Drascar knew what he saw. There was a fire behind those eyes Drascar hadn’t seen before, at odds with the arrogant but friendly man who’d taken Drascar under his wing these past days.

On a whim Drascar let his senses meld into serene awareness and reached out to the dagger as he had in the cave. In a heartbeat its weight increased tenfold. Dain fumbled as the dagger plunged into the mossy dirt. He looked startled, as though he’d been woken from a dream.

“That’s Chazendur metal,” he stammered out in amazement. The others looked at him with blank, confused expressions. He looked up at Drascar. “It shouldn’t be possible to manipulate it. In the Order of Athamein they call this the metal of the gods. But it just answered to you, didn’t it?”

Drascar reached out, grabbed the dagger by the hilt, and pulled it easily out of the dirt. “I guess?”

“We should go to Varessi.” Dain’s tone implied this was more than a suggestion, but his own voice seemed to take him by surprise. He quickly regained composure. “Vald’s one of us now. He deserves his chance to experience the Rite.”

Drascar got the impression Dain’s suggestion was an impulsive attempt to cover a blunder. The outburst had been an abrupt non sequitur. Only Seth seemed to notice — the captain still had that pensive, calculating look as he propped his chin on folded hands.

“What is the Rite?” asked Drascar.

Sevora answered. “The Varessi pools are part of Selvan tradition. They send students, young officials, and soldiers — anyone with potential value — to immerse themselves in the pools as a show of submission to the Selvan lords. Some Naemredda come from the empire too. I have no idea why.”

Her voice oozed opinionated scorn.

“They say the experience is life-changing. Euphoric, even,” Melladar added, trying to play conciliator. “Not for us, of course. The waters don’t affect Siivalans. And they sometimes kill Naemredda. No one knows why.”

“What about Ceremai?”

“I’m a Cereman, and those waters made me who I am today, gave me a purpose,” Dain responded, passion and excitement animating every word. “It’s more than just an experience. But I’ll have you know, it feels like nothing else on this good earth.”

His zeal was contagious but also gave Drascar pause.

“I’ll never touch those waters,” Sevora spat out. “Selvans always seem disappointed by our immunity to the water’s effects, so I hold nothing against Siivalans who go in. What better show of contempt than to defy their attempts to control us or alter our minds? But there is death in those waters. I’m not willing to take that risk with my life, or anyone else’s.”

“Now you’re just replacing ignorance with paranoia,” spat Dain. He continued louder before Sevora could lash out. “I say Vald should get the chance to decide for himself, and the Selvans will never allow him to join our unit if he doesn’t.”

Seth stood up and the group turned toward his stump by the fire. “We have to pass near Varessi soon regardless. Captain Drascar can make his own decision regarding the Rite when the time comes, but the decision to serve with this unit remains with the Siivalan admirals. I won’t see our authority to determine our own military handed over to the Selvans, even in idle conversation.”

Dain sulked in response, as put off by the group’s lack of interest in the pools as by the captain’s rebuke. The conversation moved on to discussing the recent dragon attacks, and after a few minutes of pouting Dain began dominating the conversation with theories on their origins and his expert opinion on how to wipe them out.

An hour passed. The fire dwindled, stars peeked out from behind scattered clouds, and moonlight played on the nearby glen.

All but those on watch had gone to sleep in their tents, but Drascar was restless. He felt the need to stay awake, not to remain alert to dangers in the dark but to complete some unfinished task. The ring felt tight around his finger and he considered switching it to a smaller one. He had a hunch it wouldn’t make a difference.

He was tossing and turning, using his jacket as a crude pillow, when a crisp breeze blew through his tent. Drascar heard great flapping wings and his borrowed hide tent shuddered above him. He was about to get up and investigate, but his vision blurred in a vortex of bright colors. He felt the stomach-churning sensation of falling despite the solid ground beneath him, and he opened his eyes to a new landscape.

He was sitting on rock in an open space with the night sky lit by moonlight. Coral rock dropped into deep pools of steaming water, light from the stars and moon dancing off the water in radiant beams only Drascar could see. There were no rising cliffs in sight, and scattered woods bordered the rocks and springs like a tattered fence. Some of the trees were black husks, leaves and most of their branches burned or shattered by liquid fire.

Black mist appeared next to one of the pools. The faded shape of a giant black wolf melded with the rising steam above the water. The beast leapt over the pool and landed in a black cloud, wisps of shadow that slowly reassumed their monstrous form. Its eyeless, snarling face looked up.

Drascar felt alarm and hate and a cruel, paralyzing terror that fixed him where he sat. The serpent ring twisted around his finger. A calm washed over his senses, a deep peace blended with clarity and focus. But the terror remained like an afterimage still fading from his bones, and as he rose he watched the mist separate into a pack of five hungry wolves charging his way. Their bodies vanished, replaced with jets of steam and mist that slammed into his chest. He fell back, lost his footing, and splashed helplessly as water closed around him.

Thrashing and holding his breath, Drascar struggled to resurface. Something pulled him deeper with alarming force that threatened to wind him, and his back slammed into rock at the pool’s bottom. The water was clear and hot. Drascar turned and watched bubbles of air rise from cracks in the coral floor. One larger crack in the floor began to slither, a black body swimming up with the twisting motion of an eel or leech. Still holding his breath, Drascar propped himself up against the side of the pool and reached for his knife.

The black shape stiffened, turning one end of its wormlike body toward Drascar. The water came alive. A powerful force pinned Drascar to the pool wall and his skin burned. A thousand pinpricks climbed up his legs and sharp pain forced him to close his eyes. His neck tightened as though he were being choked by invisible hands. His right hand closed around the dagger’s hilt, and the world froze.

Red light shot out from the ring’s gem, turning the pool the color of blood. Black mist danced in the water like a million sparkles caught in the light. Wherever the mist touched his skin, Drascar felt the burning pain amplified. But a ripple in the water caught the darkness like a ship’s wreckage in an ocean wave, pushing the mist to the pool’s edge.

The eyeless eel lunged through the water. Drascar’s right hand shot up and to his wonder the eel was caught on the dagger’s point, thrashing as black blood seeped out of the wound inches from Drascar’s face.

He felt something then, a disorienting rush as his awareness flew from his body and through the dagger in his hand. He felt disembodied, his mind floating between the dagger’s edge and the eel’s turbid blood. An electrical surge of energy burst from the dagger and reached out with tentacles of golden light. For one terrifying moment Drascar felt connected to it all — the eel’s twitching form exploded with the agony of a thousand dying minds, each particle of mist in the pool shrank back in helpless terror, and the wolves above looked down into the water with frenzied rage.

Miles of countryside suddenly became clear in Drascar’s mind, as though the Varessi springs and all the surrounding woods and valleys were encased in a crystal globe that Drascar now held in his hand. He felt his grip tighten on this globe, and like cracks fissuring glass a storm of gold electricity surged through this small part of the world. Everything cruel and evil and sinister was exterminated.

The water shuddered and for a second Drascar had the stomach-churning sensation of free-falling. He landed sharply on dirt and grass, his clothes and long hair dripping streams of hot water over the mud. The searing pain was gone and Drascar gasped for air. He panted, more from exhaustion than shortness of breath.

A dark form began to emerge from the woods to Drascar’s left. It had the creature’s shape, and even in the fading moonlight Drascar could make out the dark greens and blues of its scales, but it was bigger. The dragon’s lurking body barely fit between two trees on the forest’s edge, its snake-like neck curving up so wolfish eyes looked down on Drascar from above the tallest branches. For a shape so ominous, the dragon seemed strangely at peace, a feeling like satisfaction passing between them.

The dragon cocked its head. Drascar sat up, his clothes clinging to his body and the sack of gold orbs pulling on his belt with added weight from unstrained water. The dragon hissed, mouth opening as it drew a deep breath, and steaming mist rose from Drascar’s hair. Strands of hair rose and parted in the air before droplets of water floated away and the hair fell against his neck and back, completely dried. His clothes relaxed around his body as a cloud of mist drew up from the threads and soaked leather. A moment later, the entire episode in the pool could have been his imagination. Except Drascar’s backside still smarted from the fall and he still clutched the curved dagger in his right hand.

His head was spinning. From the look of it he’d somehow been brought back to near the Siivalan team’s camp. He turned in time to see the dragon’s shadow as the creature retreated into the woods.

Hints of dawn began to show at the ridged horizon to the east. This clearing he’d been brought to dipped into a glen with a stream that twisted around more forest. He recognized the forest and was sure it marked where the team had camped. Sure enough, a hint of movement between the trees confirmed it. He got up and made his way back.

Marrin, one of the scouts on watch, saw him as he reached the treeline and came over.

“I didn’t realize anyone had left camp. See anything out there? Seth thought he heard a rush of wings earlier, but we haven’t spotted anything.”

“Nothing. I was up early and felt like a walk. It was quiet.”

The lie was out. Lying came easy to Drascar, though he’d been a late bloomer. He’d lied once at five years old, hiding a toy soldier behind his back when his governess asked whether he’d been watching a street theatre play as instructed. He’d sat with the other children on a folding wooden chair, playing with the toy at his side. She’d forced him to show his hands and screamed at him so long his ears hurt. The humiliation hurt more. Then she locked him in the pantry with his hands tied behind his back. His parents finally took his complaints about how miserable a person she was and dismissed her, although that was seven years later. He didn’t lie again until he was almost twenty. But once he started and realized the consequences had been severely exaggerated, lying became routine. He didn’t lie about serious matters, just to save time. Some people thought they deserved to know things they didn’t.

Marrin nodded and left it at that. He kept his musket at his side and resumed his patrol.

A strange commotion was coming from the camp. Drascar heard it as he approached and thought someone was screaming. Seth, Sevora, and Melladar were standing by one of the tents. Inside, the two other musketeers were holding Dain down by the shoulders, barely managing to keep him pinned as he thrashed like a madman and screamed in agony.

Not all who are freed from evil will be grateful for it. You needed to see what we’re fighting.

Drascar heard the ring whisper in his head, thoughts spoken in his own voice. Images and emotions rushed in. A cascade of knowledge from a life already lived played with the fabric of his mind. He watched his friend’s pain, saw the loss in his eyes, and began to understand.

Chapter 12
Death at Varessi

The group reached the Varessi springs two days later. Dain recovered quickly, but his personality went from petulant to bitter over the remaining trek. Even Sevora and Melladar took to avoiding him when his mood soured.

The springs were teeming with people. The din of flustered conversation rose over the woods as the Siivalan team approached, and long lines of travelers busied the roads from north and east. The black husks of burned trees surrounded the springs in ominous clusters, dead trunks that looked as though they’d been splashed with pitch.

Sevora was first to notice Dain had slipped away from the group. She followed at a distance, confident the others would assume she was just lovestruck and needy. A year ago that had probably been true, but she’d slowly lost interest in the arrogant buffoon from Ceremai.

She’d liked his arrogance at first. She saw a kindred spirit in his pouting and easily offended disposition. She’d never behave like such a child, but she hated when people disagreed with her. She was one of the best korossa duelists in Siivala, and that sort of mastery with a blade took grit and intelligence. Anyone disagreeing with her was challenging her intelligence, her competence, and her right to wear her sword. They owed her respect, and sooner or later she’d have it.

Something changed when the stranger showed up in the mountain springs. Dain treated Valdaris with scorn, even if the bumbling artillery captain was too slow to catch underhanded insults. Scorn and snobbery struck too close to home for Sevora. And once she caught on to the disrespect in Dain’s voice, she began catching him in his lies too. Sevora lied and manipulated to win arguments — one lost argument and people started questioning your intelligence forever. But lying to boast and gain unearned respect was pathetic. Anyone hearing Dain’s account of the last year would swear he’d turned back the dragon swarms single-handed. Too many good people died for those sorts of lies to go unchecked.

Dain slowed and began to turn. Sevora slipped behind a red pavilion, confident she hadn’t been seen. Dain might have been a good shot, but he had the stealth of a giant bear clambering through the brush. She pivoted around the large tent and glimpsed Dain approaching two men in brown cloaks.

Dain was awfully chummy with those Order of Athamein freaks. Sevora leaned closer, loosening her sword to pretend she was sharpening the blade if spotted. She wanted to hear what the Cereman had to say to these cultists. Why anyone would willingly partake in the Selvan rite was beyond her.

The conversation fell into frantic whispers. Sevora caught only bits and pieces.

“Have we lost the strain?” Dain asked. “I felt them die in me, like my head was split in half.”

One of the hooded figures looked to either side before answering. Sevora wondered how anyone else in the crowd didn’t find these three suspicious. They looked like thieves plotting a heist.

“We felt it too... not just us. An entire Selvan regiment... turn back from the mountains. The springs are empty. The draemeir are gone... felt the panic before they died. We’ve been attacked.”

“We’re not sure how far the attack reached... isn’t everywhere,” the third figure added. “The Order is sending others who weren’t affected to investigate. And then we’re headed to the Daemori enclave, or what’s left of it.”

“Why there? Isn’t restoring the draemeir strain here a priority?” Dain licked his lips, as though he were a parched man begging for water.

“You haven’t heard? The compound and most of the mountains are gone. The Selvans found a crater... size of a great lake. Half the regiment has fallen sick from exposure to, well, we have no idea... never heard of such destruction, even from dragons. And there’s no trace of dragons either. We felt dragons attack the enclave two weeks ago but lost the connection. Whatever happened there, it was quick.”

“Bless the draemeir the emperor left when he did,” the other figure added with relief. “A few months later and Tarvor would be gone with the rest of them.”

“So we finally went through with it? The Order has claimed the Naemralda throne?”

Dain looked excited for the first time since his frenzy the other night.

“Athamein Bendan Tarvor reigns supreme over the Naemredd empire,” replied the third figure.

Dain let out a cry for joy before catching himself, and all three looked around with worry before returning to their huddled whispers. Sevora was almost spotted that time and figured she’d heard enough.

She made her way back to the group. Now that her curiosity was primed, she heard talk of the Naemredd emperor all around.

An ale merchant spewed gossip of conspiracy and assassins to anyone who stopped for a drink. Sevora hated the molasses sludge they made in the empire — warriors drank spirits refined by the tastes of spices and aged wood. She wasn’t a snob, but she couldn’t help noticing certain patterns about people. A person’s drink told their character.

A glimmer caught her eye. She turned and raised her hand to shade her eyes, blinded by an orange sunset bouncing off a metal figure past the merchant stalls. Her eyes adjusted and she shuddered. The figure morphed into a Selvan noble, and speaking casually with the noble was her captain.

Someone walking by caught her korossa’s scabbard on the shin. The force of the oaf stumbling over her sword pulled at her hip and sent her spinning. Navy with hints of gold caught her eye. Valdaris, the culprit, raised his hand in meek apology without a word and kept walking. He was probably headed to the ale stall. Sevora’s scowl turned to a snide grin.

She turned back and noticed Melladar off between two tents. Her sister raised her hand. Sevora waved back, then took two steps before several men and women in the crowd cried out. A shadow engulfed Sevora, wind sweeping through her hair as she looked up in terror.

She heard a fierce roar as blazing fire lit the sky. The body of a reddish-brown dragon fell from above and crashed into the space behind her. Black smoke rose from liquid fire clinging to the beast’s scales. Clawed wings crumbled beneath the twisted corpse and droplets of dragon fire splashed nearby tents as its enormous tail slammed down.

If she hadn’t seen her sister and stepped forward, she’d have been crushed and burned. Sevora shuddered.

She drew her pistol and aimed at the fallen dragon. It seemed still, and as another shadow passed overhead she risked aiming up at the new threat. Dragons traveled in swarms. There were at least five moving between the clouds. Green, blue, red, brown — four of the monsters flew together in a sort of pattern, like intersecting figure eights. The fifth was smaller than the others, blues and greens so dark it appeared black. The smaller dragon slipped between the others and circled back, racing back and forth with such speed it became impossible to follow.

The fifth dragon slipped into an incoming stormcloud, dark grey and ominous, and the other four followed. The cloud erupted with orange light in quick bursts. Another body fell from the sky, plummeting into the merchant stalls below as crowds continued to scatter. The smoking green corpse twisted in the air just before slamming down. Its wicked tail lashed out from the smoke and sent three Selvan soldiers flying like tossed ragdolls. A musket fired. Three more gunshots followed.

An eerie silence came over the camp. Most travelers had retreated into the nearby woods. The fiery storm drifted to the west, dragons flying in and out of the clouds as fire flashed like red lightning. Cowering figures emerged from behind tents and fallen stalls, creeping on wary tiptoes toward the dead dragons. Curious fools, the lot of them.

“We’re leaving.” Seth’s voice caught Sevora off guard, still dazed from the attack.

He gave her no chance to respond. He began walking with his usual stern quiet toward Melladar and the Siivalan campsite, and Sevora followed.

The three Siivalans made imposing figures, passing between the returning crowds with one hand holding their korossas by the hilt and poised for battle.

They reached the tents after a few minutes. Marrin, Baed, and Datha stood around one of the tents with a look of collective shock.

“Dain is dead. Murdered,” Marrin muttered through dazed lips.

Sevora’s heart caught in her chest.

Chapter 13
Intrigue and Orders

A taut hush loomed over the group. They stood by the tent unable to move.

Finally, the rising din from the nearby crowds jolted the team into action. Seth pulled up the tent’s flap and stepped inside. Sevora caught a glimpse of stiff leather boots before the flap fell shut.

When Seth came out, it was with that quiet, serious look he always had. Sevora felt her blood boil — one of his team was dead and the bland lout still couldn’t be bothered to show emotion. His face had the range of a brass spoon.

“Stabbed through the heart,” was all he said. He turned to Baed and Datha, their muskets hanging limp by their sides. Marrin joined in as the captain questioned each with cool eyes. They spoke in mutters and whispers, impossible to hear. Sevora thought they looked more like huddled conspirators than grieving friends.

After a few minutes, Seth walked over to the sisters.

“When did Dain return to the camp?” he asked Melladar.

“He didn’t!”

Sevora realized with a start just how shaken her sister was by the news.

“He left well before the dragon attack. I didn’t see him come back.”

“I saw him over by the merchant stalls,” said Sevora. “He was still talking with some Naemredd men when I started making my way back to camp. That was right before the dragons.”

“Interesting,” Seth answered. “Whoever killed Dain used a longsword. He was pinned to the dirt. You can see the hole where a straight-edged blade pierced the soil.”

“Not many Naemredda use longswords,” said Sevora. “Most officers carry those useless sabers and rapiers of theirs. And rank soldiers have musket blades… maybe hunting knives.”

“A hunting knife wouldn’t have been long enough to do this,” said Seth. “And rapiers are too narrow. But no Siivalan or Selvan carries the sort of weapon we’re looking for.”

“The way they talked, these Naemredda didn’t seem like Dain’s enemies.”

What had Dain gotten himself caught up in?

A Selvan soldier in bright silver armor approached the group, with Valdaris close behind. The Cereman was covered in ash and soot. For once he looked like the artillery captain he claimed to be. Sevora always thought his military suit looked too pristine for someone who’d gone through years of war and two years of wandering after. But he’d gotten along with Dain, which was enough for her to give him a fair chance.

So why was he with a Selvan? Had everyone lost their minds?

“Captain Seddram Peltan?”

The rest of the group turned, too dazed to respond.

The Selvan singled Seth out as the one in charge and stepped closer.

“I understand this Cereman is under your charge,” he said, more statement than question. The group tensed, unsure what was coming. “I’m here to offer your unit a commendation for gallantry and your next commission. Here are your papers.”

The Selvan pulled out a small, rolled parchment and handed it to Seth. Seth accepted the paper without a word, that same serious look in his eyes.

“In all my days I’ve never seen such a perfect throw. You saved many lives today, soldier. Whatever your allegiances in the past, I welcome you as a brother in arms. May the light of the Malda protect you.”

He was looking at Valdaris.

With that, the Selvan drew himself into a stiff military salute, turned, and walked back into the crowds.

“What the scheth was that about?” Sevora asked what they were all thinking.

Seth ignored her and hurried after the Selvan. A small group of Naemredda and Selvans let Seth pass and closed in on the Siivalans. They huddled around Valdaris and pestered him with questions. Sevora pieced together what happened from the crowd’s excited rambling — he’d killed a dragon.

It sounded impossible. A Naemredda woman took the Cereman’s hands and blessed him for saving her. The ale merchant Sevora had watched earlier offered Valdaris a sealed bottle of molasses-colored liquid. He boasted with the pompous voice of a salesman that he’d been right there with the dragon breathing down his neck. Apparently, he’d watched Valdaris’s curved blade fly inches from his face and catch the dragon between the eyes.

Seth returned with a company of Selvans beside him. The flocking crowd dispersed as the soldiers stepped through, the moment’s excitement replaced by caution. Two of the soldiers stepped forward to examine the tent and Dain’s still-unmoved body.

Finally, something was being done. Maybe Seth wasn’t as totally incompetent as Sevora had come to believe.

The next three hours drained Sevora’s hope for justice. The Selvans made a show of investigating, questioning the six Siivalans until their throats were dry. But they had no suspects, and in the chaos of the dragon attack no one had seen anyone enter the camp.

Even stranger, the Selvans tracked down the Naemredda who’d been discussing imperial politics with Dain. Sevora listened in after pointing them out. One of the Athamein monks confirmed Dain had been with them. He said they were still talking when the dragons attacked and they’d been together behind a nearby pavilion when the first dragon fell.

So how did he get back to his tent to be murdered in such short time?

Valdaris stood off to the side in all this, caught between the crowds celebrating the dragon slayer and the Siivalans mourning his fellow Cereman.

Sevora grew livid as time passed, and even Seth started showing his frustration. He could be heard yelling with two Selvans away from the tents. People turned toward the Varessi springs as the words “dead” and “murder” rose above the din. One of the Selvans stepped back, caught off guard by Seth’s outburst. His foot missed a pool’s edge and he fell thrashing into the steaming water.

Seth came storming back to the camp, indifferent to the Selvan’s fate. Sevora watched as the other Selvan pulled the soaking soldier from the water. Onlookers began shuffling toward the pools, curious to confirm that the springs had lost their mystical properties.

“Typical Selvans,” Seth spat. “Our ‘commendation’ for Vald’s heroics is nothing more than an order to reinforce Kartumol Fortress. And they want us gone today. They’re keeping Dain’s body while they continue investigating. We don’t get to bury him, and they aren’t allowing a military funeral.”

“Like scheth they aren’t,” Sevora muttered. She took off at a brisk march, walked up to the dry Selvan, and rammed her shoulder into his chest.

Chaos erupted. The Selvan fell into the water and sent up a wall of hot spray. The other Selvan drew an elegant sword of shining, curved steel from its dripping scabbard. Sevora was quicker, and her long korossa extended from her wrist to an inch below the Selvan’s chin. The man, realizing his peril, froze in place.

“I want to know why—” Sevora was cut off by something ripping the sword from her hand. The force threw the korossa into the pool, barely making a ripple as the blade sliced through the water. Something smaller splashed off to the side.

Sevora looked around, furious. Two Selvans in gleaming armor closed in with swords drawn, and a scout in a maroon leather coat leveled a musket at her chest.

She raised her hands, keeping her composure while her eyes shot fire.

“Another impossible throw. I’m impressed, Cereman.” The Selvan from earlier walked next to Valdaris. His look was stern, but amusement played across his face and his tone was genuine.

Only now did Sevora realize she’d been disarmed by a knife throw. Her face turned crimson.

The Selvan commander waved his hand in an impatient gesture. His men sheathed their swords and the scout lowered his musket. A sharp gasp for air and frantic splashing filled the silence as the other Selvan scrambled out of the pool. Sevora hardly noticed. Her attention was fixed on Valdaris, who removed his jacket as he stepped closer. He walked past her without meeting her gaze, threw his jacket beside the pool, and dropped gracelessly into the water.

Everyone watched. Steam hid most of the surface, but with each ripple on the water the crowd inched closer. Sevora began to turn away and glare at the Selvans when the Cereman came up and pushed himself onto the ledge. In one hand he held his dagger, and in the other Sevora was surprised to see her korossa.

Valdaris stood up, hot spring water dripping from his long hair and clothes onto the coral rock. He sheathed his dagger first, then stepped forward with loud sploshes from his boots. He held out the korossa’s hilt, his face serious but something like a wink or smirk threatening to break through.

Sevora scowled but accepted the sword, embarrassed more than grateful. A few Selvans flinched as she lifted it higher, then relaxed as she slid the blade into its scabbard.

The commander stepped over to Seth. “Unless you want your recruit sentenced for assaulting a ranking officer, I want you on the road and well on your way to the ferries by sunset.”

Seth drew up into a forced salute, then turned on Sevora. “Let’s go.”

“At least I had the backbone to—”

“Now.” Seth walked past without waiting for an answer. Sevora fumed, stunned by his nerve. The Selvans watched with stoic appraisal, barely hiding their contempt.

Seth had interrupted her. He’d dismissed her. Disregarded her. Treated her as inferior to himself. The snide bastard. He’d publicly humiliated her. She’d questioned his right to be captain before, but now…

Valdaris followed close behind Seth. The captain slowed so the two could talk while heading back to camp. Seth turned with a quick look at Sevora before returning to the conversation. Obviously, she was the subject.

Back at the camp, Selvan soldiers stood guard around a crimson stain where Dain’s tent had been. A few soldiers had thick cloth bandages and smoke-stained uniforms from the dragon skirmish. The air was thick with tension.

Melladar was quieter than usual. Sevora caught a quick look from her sister that flickered between fear and disapproval. She saw Sevora as the rash one. Sevora figured the twins balanced each other out — only those who knew them best saw how opposite they really were. And anyway, Melladar knew better than to voice any reproach for the events by the pool. Sevora got away with it, after all. It wasn’t worth a fight.

The sisters rolled up their sleeping mats and wrapped them in the collapsed tent. Sevora would shoulder the black iron tent poles, bound by thick leather cords, and most of the heavy gear. Melladar always carried the lighter bulk, mostly because of her weak arm. She’d taken a slash to her forearm in her teens training, and to the day her nerves hadn’t fully healed. Sevora thought sometimes she exaggerated the pain, but she’d seen Melladar push through enough in their lives to leave her be.

Valdaris strolled by, shifting his weight and almost teetering over. He had a newly acquired pack strapped to his back, iron tent pegs running horizontal through the straps with even more bags hanging on either side. Suddenly, Sevora felt a whole lot better. She stifled a chuckle when his auburn hair caught in a strap and he had to jerk his head to pull free. Some men weren’t meant for long hair.

Sevora took a last glance at where Dain’s tent had been, now an empty space guarded by two Selvan sentries. A brown mat covered the stained dirt. As she turned back to the group, she noticed the two Athamein monks watching. And when she looked back toward the springs a few minutes after the group departed, she spotted the monks among a company of Selvans heading in the same direction.

She remembered them saying something to Dain about the Daemori mountains being leveled. They’d mentioned traveling there to investigate. So why were they on their way to the Deldran ferries?

She had a feeling it had to do with Dain’s murder. Maybe they suspected someone in her company.

Chapter 14
The Kossa Duel

It was only a two-day journey north from the springs to the Deldran River. A few hours after leaving Varessi, Sevora caught sight of trees untouched by the dragons and even some deer grazing in a nearby field. Two does caught sight of the company and retreated into the woods, their fawns scurrying after with awkward bounds.

“Ready?” Sevora asked her sister.

She was itching to practice her swordplay after the showdown at Varessi. Plus, she liked catching Mella off guard. Sevora had the better endurance between them and the day’s journey would give her the advantage.

“Maybe later,” said Mella, making the slightest nod at her arm so Sevora would know her scar was troubling her.

Sevora felt a flash of guilt, since she’d guessed Mella’s arm would be hurting and was maybe even counting on it. She cast the guilt from her mind as quick as it came.

“Well I’m not about to let my arms get stiff.”

Mella flinched, but Sevora was sure she knew how she’d meant it.

“I hate training alone.”

“Want me to step in?” asked Valdaris.

Marrin, Baed, and Datha stopped setting up their tents. Marrin’s eyes grew wide and the other two Siivalans had open jaws and blank expressions. Seth, sitting on his pack next to his already-pitched tent, smiled.

“Here, you can use mine,” said Seth. He stood and unclipped his korossa as though he’d known what was coming. Maybe the two had planned this — for someone so slow Seth could be devious when he wanted. But he had another thing coming if his grand scheme to punish her fell on a duel with an untrained Cereman.

“I’m not much of a teacher,” said Sevora. She unclipped her scabbard and pulled the long blade free.

“I’ll bet,” said Datha with a snicker, just loud enough to regret it when Sevora sent him her most withering look.

“I’ll do my best to keep up,” said Valdaris. As he pulled Seth’s korossa from its worn scabbard, the blade seemed to ring. Sevora could have sworn she saw a faint blue light glimmer along its edge. She’d have shrugged it off if not for Seth’s wide eyes, which quickly turned serious.

Valdaris handed the scabbard to Seth, then twisted the sword in a narrow flourish, gripping hard on the hilt and shifting down into a stance Sevora recognized. Valdaris wasn’t showing off — she was about to be challenged.

She drew herself up. “Read… ahem… ready?”

He nodded.

Sevora shot forward, left arm straightened and her sword piercing the air where Valdaris’s bulk had been. He’d stepped left, pivoting and catching her blade with a stiff but powerful undercut. The force pulled her arm up and around so she stumbled two steps over.

She’d left her side open and knew what was coming. The Cereman closed in with a sweeping diagonal slash that her hasty defense barely caught. He pressed his korossa on hers and it took all her strength to keep her own blade from digging into her shoulder. Their eyes locked.

For the first time since the dragon swarms flew east, she was afraid.

Instead of resisting, Sevora pushed down and let Valdaris’s momentum work for her. She tried to draw her blade over his but he read her motion and followed, keeping the blades locked and directing the movement of both swords, first right, then left, then up, then down. Their duel became a dance, swords pivoting around the point where the blades touched as both wielders twisted and turned. Sevora’s arms barely kept up, and her korossa pulled her by the hilt like a child tugged forward on a leash.

A Kosen blade-lock. She saw a chance and took it, stepping into the tangle of blades and forcing Valdaris back with another failed stab. But now her sword was free.

Valdaris resumed his attack with tenacity and endurance she hadn’t expected. She was using every shred of her focus and it was barely enough to hold him at bay.

Their swords collided overhead, three sharp clacks. When she tried a wider swipe, he caught her blade in another lock and they fell back into the dance. This time, she followed his sweeping motion as much as he followed hers, and when the swords came apart she jumped forward with her arms high.

Another series of quick strikes above their heads, another Kosen lock. When they came free, both Sevora and Valdaris instinctively flourished their blades, Valdaris returning to his stiff opening stance and Sevora turning her momentum into a spinning horizontal attack. Their blades met in the middle with a clear ring.

She’d never felt so focused, so caught up in a duel. She drank in the exhilaration, each breath drawing her deeper into the moment, her presence one with the outstretched swords. More than the prestige, the honor, and the power, this was what made her a kossa master. Nothing else compared.

Slow clapping drew her from her trance. She hadn’t noticed the crowd — the Selvans from the other camp had come to watch, and the two Athamein monks stood closest. One of them, hood down to reveal a stern, square face, maintained his steady clap until others in the crowd joined in.

Sevora drew herself up. She turned back to Valdaris, looking at the Cereman with newfound respect. And hunger.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m not sure I know,” Valdaris answered. He pulled back from his stance, flipped his sword to face the earth, and bowed.

Sevora returned the gesture and meant it.

“That was impressive swordplay,” said the monk.

Sevora’s mood soured on the spot. She hated that word. The art of kossa was a craft with a tool, not play with a toy. She hated when ignorant fools degraded her passion.

“May I see that blade?” asked the monk, his palm held out in anticipation. The second monk shifted forward, just barely.

“It isn’t mine,” said Valdaris, not curt but totally indifferent to the assumed self-importance of the monks. He walked over to Seth and held out the sword by its hilt. Seth stood to accept it, and Sevora thought the blade seemed to dim as his hand closed around the hilt.

“Perhaps you are due a korossa of your own,” said a man in bright silver armor. Sevora recognized the Selvan who’d given Seth their orders.

She wanted to be furious. The korossas were a Siivalan privilege, one the Selvans loved to hold over them. The blades were a secret of old Selvan craftsmanship, gifted as part of the “pact” between the two nations. Every kossa master felt dirtied wielding those blades, but there was nothing like them.

“In fact, I’ll see to it personally. Our first stop along the Deldran is at Mindan. There’s a Siivalan armory in the village, is there not, captain?”

“There is,” said Seth.

Home. Mindan wasn’t what Sevora counted as true Siivala, but her and Mella’s parents had transferred there when the sisters deployed. They didn’t see them often, but more than if they’d stayed in the heartwoods. Sevora looked over to her sister.

Mella smiled.

Chapter 15
The Deldran Ferries

Melladar Embraya watched the duel in quiet awe. She’d been jolted from sadness by that first flicker of blue light on Seth’s korossa. Everyone knew the blades had magic, but for Mella that magic had always been invisible, a soothing calm she felt flow into her hands each time she gripped her sword. This was different. Tangible. Visible.

That Athamein monk had no right to it. They were lowborn fools, zealots hungry for power.

“The first Cereman to carry a korossa. This will mark quite the occasion,” said the monk. “What is your name, warrior?”

“Call me Vald,” he answered with a nod. “Now, I think I should finally pitch my tent before my arms give out.”

Valdaris exchanged nods with the Selvan commander and walked over to his pile of bags. The Selvans and monks withdrew to their camp away in the field, and the Siivalans began settling in for the night, all quieter than usual. The sun barely crept over the treetops in flecks of orange and pink light.

Back at their tent, the sisters sat on their mats with a lantern hanging between them.

Sevora looked ready to burst. “You saw that, right? Selvan magic, clear as day. Dain always said the Ceremai have no magic. Resistant, he called it. I thought only the springs could change that, but not even Selvans can make a korossa light up.”

“Or move a dagger, like when he made his dagger fall out of Dain’s hand, remember? And where does an artillery captain learn swordcraft like that?” asked Mella. “I like Vald, but he struck me as a startled-doe kind of person, you know? The middling sort that lets life pull them along.”

“There’s a lot more to him than meets the eye, that’s for sure,” said Sevora. “For a short duel, it was the hardest I’ve ever had. He won. Tell anyone I said that and I’ll bury you to your neck, but I can’t deny it. He beat me, and I think he was holding back.”

“No way,” said Mella. “He caught you off guard. How could you have known what you were up against? But you’re the best there is.”

“Thanks, Mell.” Sevora looked unconvinced. Worse, she seemed shaken, insecure. It was a bad look for a highborn kossa.

“That was a Kosen lock, wasn’t it?” asked Mella.

Sevora came back to herself. “It was amazing. I remember Master Dothan teaching us the motions, but I’ve never seen it in practice, never at full speed. I’ve never felt a sword-trance like that.”

Mella loved their training but always worried she was holding her sister back. She felt a hint of sadness, maybe even envy, at the thought of Sevora enjoying sparring with someone else.

“But also, the nerve of that monk!” Sevora’s usual fire lit up behind her eyes. “They act so superior and always step in where they don’t belong.”

“I didn’t know they were so interested in Siivala,” said Mella. “But anything to do with the Rite, the springs, the Selvan’s hidden magic… I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised they’d learn about the korossas eventually.”

“I don’t like it,” said Sevora. “When I overheard them with Dain, it wasn’t curiosity or… scholarship. It was ambition. They’re after something, and they’re getting bolder.”

“Maybe Dain got in the way,” said Mella. She felt the sadness slip back into her bones.

“I don’t think so,” said Sevora. “Dain was one of them. No doubt. I don’t think we knew him that well after all.”

Their chatter paused.

“Men,” said Mella.

“Men.”

Their mood lighter, the sisters smiled and pulled up their thick fleece blankets.

“Cha’ven,” said Sevora as she rolled over.

“Cha’vielle,” answered Mella as she drifted off.

The next morning came and passed quickly. Both groups broke camp and set off, the same distance between the parties despite their shared destination.

The Siivalans followed the treeline until it became elevated by hills and rocks. The field narrowed, and within a few hours the Deldran was in view ahead. Speckled sunlight danced on the rippling water. The powerful current pulled the endless flow into a frenzied, splashing commotion they could hear well before reaching the bank.

Mella winced. The noise from the Deldran always made her tense. Her arm throbbed, small sparks shooting up her damaged nerves. She hoped the trip downriver would be their last for a while.

Seth signaled the group to stop. The Selvan party crossed in front of them and made their way to the line of docks farther down the bank.

“I’m surprised he came,” Mella overheard Seth say to Valdaris, who stood next to him and looked much more at ease under his tangle of packs.

“He seems capable, if a bit stern,” said Valdaris.

Mella followed their gaze to the Selvan commander passing by.

“Maybe Kartumol really does need the support.”

“We’ll see,” said Seth. “We’ll do our duty, but I don’t have to like it.”

Mella knew how Sevora felt about the captain, but she thought he was doing the best anyone could expect. Maybe Seth could take charge more and think less, but Mella admired his composure. It had saved the company more than once when the dragon attacks were at their worst.

And he never took credit. Even when Dain’s ego spiraled out of control. She was pretty sure Dain had boasted more than one of Seth’s kills as his own.

She missed the other Cereman. It didn’t make sense, but it was how she felt. Arrogant types put her off, but his self-assurance had made her feel safe. He’d had an allure, a charm that was hard to resist. Valdaris’s arrival had made her conscious of how much she and her sister were clinging to Dain. Sevora wouldn’t care if others noticed, but Mella felt embarrassed.

She didn’t like this version of herself.

The Selvans gathered around the closer docks, no doubt to keep the Siivalans in front. Seth led the company over a longer series of rocks to where they could step safely onto the forward docks. Datha lost his footing and almost fell into the rushing water, recovering with a cheeky smirk and feigning indifference to his near peril. The docks had nets below and a few feet away to catch dropped goods and clumsy soldiers, but there were no safeguards farther out. It took an exceptional swimmer to survive the Deldran, though Sevora always said she wanted to try.

Behind them, several groups of Selvans and Siivalans emerged from the treeline, teams of three carrying the long, narrow ferries on their shoulders. Some brought paddles, and two Selvans with heavy logbooks approached Seth and the Selvan commander.

She didn’t envy their work. Too repetitive. Too mundane. When their deployment ended, if it ended, Mella wanted a life of culture. She’d follow her sister, probably back to the heartwoods, and take up the music that had been her private joy before their training.

The ferriers lowered two boats into the water, thick cords hooked to rings on either end keeping the boats in place. They helped her and Sevora load their packs into the hull, then offered support as the sisters stepped down. The ferrier held her hand a little longer than she’d have liked.

Valdaris and Datha took the end seats, the ferriers handing them long, polished paddles of dark red wood. Sevora grabbed another paddle by the base and the ferrier relinquished it to her without a word. They unhooked the cords and the ferry turned with the current, Seth, Baed, and Marrin following close behind in the second boat.

Mella took a deep breath and held it a moment as the boat picked up speed. She regretted taking the only back-facing seat, but if Sevora wanted to row there was no other option. She watched the water race by and felt her heart pound as her feet pressed against the boat’s thin wood. The only metal in the ferries was on their bows to protect from collisions. Otherwise, they were built for speed, though Mella knew the treated Selvan birch could take a blow.

She tried to distract herself by enjoying the scenery. Both shorelines quickly rose into high rocks and short stretches of cliff. Thick, wild forest lined their way on either side. Seth’s boat came up beside them, Baed almost giddy from the thrill of the ride.

“Are you alright?” asked Seth. She nodded, but she knew her tight shoulders and firm grip on the smooth wooden seat gave her away. Seth smiled and disappeared as his boat raced past. She looked back at the seven or eight Selvan boats trailing behind.

The ferry tilted left and its nose lifted behind her. Mella’s knuckles went white from gripping her seat and she almost lurched forward into her sister.

“We’re turning!” said Sevora. “Sorry. I’ll warn you next time.”

But she didn’t even try to hide her grin. Mella hated when her sister made sport of her for this. The river narrowed and they made a few more sharp turns in quick succession. The turns weren’t as bad as the drops. At least once, the boat tilted so far that Mella lost balance and slammed her head into Valdaris’s back. She was too embarrassed to apologize, and both Sevora and Datha burst out laughing.

Mella kept her eyes on the pack by her feet for a good stretch after that. Eventually, the Deldran opened again and the current lost some of its force. She eased up and let herself enjoy the cool breeze and the feel of sunshine on her hair.

Raised voices echoed between the cliffs, coming from the Selvans. A few were standing and pointing frantically at the sky. Mella turned and looked as a blur of dark blues and greens flew over the treeline, close enough for the wind to throw her hair across her eyes. She wiped her face, but then the whole ferry shook and threw Valdaris over the side.

Chapter 16
Ambush

Water sprayed Mella’s sleeve and hair, dripping down her face as she regained balance. Yelling filled the air, not from the Selvans but from trees on the southern bank.

That was her only warning. She had begun to turn and stand when a buzzing arrow tore into her belly. Pain stole the breath from her lungs and her eyes went wide. The world went still. She could hear Sevora screaming her name as another wave tilted the ferry and Mella fell into the merciless water.

She barely felt the river engulf her. An oar slammed into her shoulder and her body twisted in the current, the moving water pushing against the arrow and sending a spasm of pain through her torso. She kicked and flailed, desperate for air, but her panicked mind had lost any sense of direction.

Something sharp slashed her thigh. She twisted and kicked out, oblivious to the endless waves of pain, but then some invisible force jerked the arrow from her stomach and she gasped, her lungs filling with water.

Not like this. There was a time she’d have welcomed death. Not even her sister knew the true origin of the wound on her arm. But not like this.

She tried to kick her legs again and her thigh burned as though vinegar had been poured into the cut. The pain seared her muscles and locked her hip. Her arm was worse. Each attempt to pull herself through the rushing water sent jolts of lightning up the length of her arm and caused her fingers to twitch open and closed. She tried to push forward with her good arm, but something drove into her back and pushed her deeper into the river.

A second later, her head hit rock. The collision forced her neck back and a rush of bile shot up her throat as she choked. The current pressed her whole body against the rock, her fierce spasms constricted by the force of the water. But suddenly, as she inched her way up the rock’s surface, she felt dry air on her forehead. Her feet slipped on the smooth stone and the feeling disappeared, but she reached up and her hand gripped the rock above water.

With a final, desperate push, her head surfaced and she vomited blood and water on sparkling white rock. Her vision blurred with each hurl, and she barely had strength to pull herself the rest of the way up. The smooth, glistening surface slanted into the water and had no cracks or fissures to offer grip. Her fingers slid over an edge where the large rock finally flattened, and moments later she was sprawled out, trembling and delirious.

Mella’s world spun. Each heartbeat pulsed like a shockwave, shaking her core. Painful rings like a thousand chimes blasted her ears.

Something warned her to move. She groaned in agony but rolled over just as the metal head of a ferry drove up the rock’s surface where she’d been. The Selvan commander leapt out in a flash of silver, gleaming sword drawn and looming over her. The ferry twisted, still caught in the river, and pushed against her leg before being pulled away.

“Are you alright?” he asked, making quick glances her way.

“I’m…” She coughed, and a frenzied scream cut her off.

A cloaked figure jumped down from the treeline to her left and ran into the commander’s sword. For a moment the Selvan just stared. The attacker’s skin was a swirling mosaic of dark blues and purples. It had thin, sharp fangs for teeth, mouth gaping without expression, grey eyes staring dumbly ahead.

The Selvan pulled his blade free, and deep purple blood streamed onto the white rock before the creature fell forward and was carried away by the river.

Mella felt herself sliding back toward the water and couldn’t move. The commander sheathed his sword, ignoring the blood still dripping from the blade, and rushed over to grab her wrists. He pulled her up, shifted his hold to a firm grip under her arms, and carried her farther ashore. Shimmering white rocks lined this part of the Deldran, overlapping to form a shelf between the higher cliffs on either side. She could make out hints of motion over the rocks as the Selvan set her down.

Gunshots cracked the air to their left. The commander called out with a wave and two Selvans rushed over.

“At least two dozen, commander,” said one of the soldiers. “What are these things? What’s happening?”

“I don’t know,” the Selvan answered. “How many lost?”

“More than half.”

“My brother is dead, sir,” said the other Selvan. “What did they do to him?”

“I don’t know… Can we hold this position?”

“Those flashing lights in the woods scared them away, but we won’t survive another attack. Not if more of us turn.”

Mella winced, a final twinge of pain constricting her wound before her mind slipped into the void.

Chapter 17
Apparition

Mella woke to the flicker of a lantern overhead and clamped bones in her hand. Sevora was kneeling beside her and gripping her hand tight. Moving shadows and darkness played at the gap between tent flaps.

“What happened?” said Mella.

“You’re awake,” said Sevora with a sigh. “Incredible.”

Light sparkled from the tent’s entrance as the Selvan commander ducked through.

“How is…” He cut himself off at the sight of Mella awake.

“Get out,” said Sevora.

“No, I…” Mella leaned up and propped herself on her elbows, her fleece blanket pulling away. Only a cloth strap around her chest protected her decency. The Selvan seemed indifferent, his eyes unmoving but concerned.

She sat up and pulled the blanket around her. “Thank you,” she said.

“Elzar,” he said with a nod. He remained stiff, as though unsure what to say next. “Your captain needs you.”

He directed the statement at Sevora without emotion, ignoring her glare, then stepped back outside.

“How do you feel?” asked Sevora. “We have to keep moving.”

“I should be dead,” said Mella. She let go of the blanket and looked down. Her olive skin was smooth and unblemished.

“Not even a scar,” said Sevora. “You were unconscious and fevered for days, but when we found you there was no wound. Just a scratch on your leg. I don’t understand.”

Mella didn’t answer. She felt cold and empty, but her eyes watered. Her heart felt shaken, like something had come loose inside her. She turned away and noticed her korossa beside her, reaching for the smooth wooden hilt as she curled up tighter. A chilling energy like mountain spring water flowed up her arm and through her chest, but that second, emptier cold remained.

Sevora seemed taken aback by what she saw.

“I’ll see what Seth wants. But you really need to get ready.”

Her sister left, and Mella stared at the brown hemp of the tent’s side as it pulled in the wind.

A musket went off, distant and the sound broken into lingering echoes. Mella hardly knew what she’d heard. Light and voices played on her unconscious mind and muffled the world around her.

Another chilling rush spread through her arm and she decided to get up. She found her bag at the tent’s rear and pulled out a spare tunic. Her vest was folded on the tent floor next to what remained of her other shirt, the light green now blotched with bloodstains and torn in the middle. She found her pants below and pulled them up, only to see the upper half of one leg was sliced open, the dark green material stained brown along the edges of the gash. She reached down and felt a dull pain as she pressed the back of her thigh with her fingers. Her head became light and she stumbled back, fumbling before catching herself on the tent’s central pole.

She stood there, dizzy, confused, and still undressed, half wishing to remain lost in the rolling emptiness of her mind.

The dizziness passed eventually, replaced by feeling trapped in this lonely tent with her wayward emotions. She returned to her pack and pulled her tunic over her head, then found her only remaining pants and slipped them on over her breeches. As she fastened her vest, the familiar tightness gave back a small measure of her resolve. She swapped out her belt from the torn pants, then found herself pulling the flintlock and holster from her pack and strapping them on opposite her sword.

Another gunshot outside did nothing for her unease, but she made her way to the tent’s entrance and stepped out into the night air.

The first thing she saw was the fire. Tents had been pitched around a small clearing where soil gave way to moss-covered boulders. She could hear the Deldran raging beyond the camp’s edge. Sevora, Seth, and Valdaris stood huddled between some trees, Seth and Sevora gesturing angrily at the woods while Valdaris listened. The two Athamein monks sat with their legs crossed by the fire, hands folded and eyes closed.

Mella didn’t feel like joining the others. She almost considered sitting with the monks at the fire, even bracing for their strange looks and prying questions. The burning logs drew her attention. A shadow spread from beneath the charred wood and diminished the fire’s glow, and the night itself seemed to grow darker and close in from above. The darkness gathered itself into a writhing mass above the rocks, until the shadows melded into the shape of a cloaked figure. Arms by its side, the dark apparition watched the camp from behind a tattered hood, grey eyes and hints of blue and purple barely visible in the flickering light.

Mella’s hand darted for her pistol, her knees bent and eyes locked on the enemy. She lined her shot, handle gripped tight in both hands, and fired.

Time stopped. White smoke filled her vision and the recoil jolted her arms, but she didn’t feel the usual shard of pain from her scar. Instead, as the pistol pressed back into her palm she felt a surge of pressure flow up her arm, through the pommel, and down the length of the gun’s barrel. She felt her awareness pulled from her body, drawn down the barrel, and soon she was flying with the lead ball as it shot out over the fire. She watched the bullet spin slowly through rising smoke and drift inch by inch toward the ominous figure.

One moment, the cloaked enemy stood there like a personified evil, watchful and looming. The next, it was gone. Mella’s concentration broke, and she looked out in wonder from her spot by the tent’s entrance as the bullet skipped off the rocks in a flash of sparks.

The monks scrambled away from the fire. Two Selvan soldiers and the commander came charging out of a larger tent to her right, swords drawn. Sevora and Seth rushed over, eyes jumping between her and the rocks overlooking the Deldran. Valdaris was the only one who didn’t react. He just watched her from his spot by the trees.

“What in the world, Mell?” asked Sevora.

“I saw one of them,” said Mella. “One of those things that attacked us. Right there.”

The Selvan soldiers overheard and ran for the rocks, one of them leaping over a startled monk. Datha, Marrin, and two more Selvans came running from the woods behind.

“Anything?” asked Seth.

“Not since this afternoon,” said Marrin. “And the Selvans thought it was a bear.”

“Shows what they know,” said Sevora. “These woods have been empty for years.”

“Tell that to the deer we saw on the way,” said Datha.

Mella thought the musketeer seemed off. Bitter, even.

“With the dragons scattered, maybe wildlife is coming back,” said Seth. “But we can’t risk another ambush. Find the other patrol and tell them we move at first light.”

Within a few hours the camp was packed and the company moved out. Dim light and a rolling path of tangled roots, uneven rocks, and sliding beds of dead branches, leaves, and needles slowed the group’s progress.

Sevora kept her eyes ahead and said nothing. The Selvan commander, of all people, filled Mella in as they walked. He’d lost two thirds of his company, only a quarter to the initial ambush. A third of his own men had suddenly turned on the rest without warning. Several died never knowing they’d been killed by friends. The rest had to kill their comrades in self-defense or watch them be torn apart by the attacking creatures.

None of the Siivalans had turned. The attackers nearly overwhelmed her captain, and they killed a musketeer in the first wave. Baed, Mella realized. They’d buried him in the woods that first night while she was unconscious.

Mella’s eyes watered but she kept pushing forward. The Selvan, Elzar, helped her climb a cracked boulder barring the company’s path. Their losses seemed to have broken the barrier between the two companies.

“Don’t trust the monks,” he said as Mella pulled him up behind her.

“I thought they came with you,” said Mella. She looked back and saw the Athamein monks trailing behind, making their way through the brush in awkward strides.

“On orders,” Elzar replied, lowering his voice and keeping his eyes ahead. “They insisted. Even pulled rank with a sealed Maldan dictate.”

“I don’t understand,” said Mella.

“I’ve only seen one dictate from the Maldan lords, ever,” said Elzar. “Opened in ceremony by the Arch General before our invasion of Ceremai.”

He paused.

“For citizens of Naemredd to carry such a document stretches credulity. But I risk execution if I ignore it. And a dictate is to be confiscated after single use. They threw away the rarest privilege in our world to join this expedition.”

“It’s Dain,” said Mella. “It has to be. Something about his murder, and whatever my sister overheard them discussing.”

“Maybe,” said Elzar. “But you didn’t see what I saw. During the attack, their ferry came ashore behind us. One of those creatures charged, and the monk just raised his hand. The creature’s neck snapped from ten paces away. I’d have doubted my eyes if the other monk hadn’t stopped an axe mid-air just looking at it. And I watched the axe reverse flight and break the thrower’s skull. I’ve never seen power like that.”

“Magic,” said Mella, muttering to herself. “Maybe they’re not a cult after all.”

“They saw me watching,” said Elzar. “They know I saw, and their faces… they weren’t human.”

The commander’s voice trailed off. The Siivalans ahead had paused at the edge of the treeline. The forest gave way to a steep slope of grey rocks, the Deldran racing by on the right. Beyond the rocks, tarred walkways, park benches, and wooden structures dotted a grassy field. Siivalan families walked along the paths, lovers sat on the benches or ate from baskets on blankets, and children raced across the wooden playgrounds.

Mella should have felt relief, joy even, but all she felt was a crashing wave of sadness and exhaustion.

Her hand reached for Elzar’s before she caught herself. If he noticed, he pretended to be caught up in the idyllic scene like the rest of them.

Sevora turned, beaming.

“We made it!”

Chapter 18
Mindan

The company made their way down the slope and followed the nearest path back to the river. Siivalans from the park crowded around them, children running up to the korossa wielders and fawning over them until Mella thought she’d trip with each step forward. Her heart raced.

Datha held a little girl in his arms with pink ribbons in her hair. Baed’s sister, Mella realized. The girl looked excited and clung to the musketeer with affection. Her parents trailed behind, the father cool and collected while he held his wife around the waist, a thin, forced smile catching tears from her eyes.

The park gave way to cobblestone roads and small brick homes and shops. It was all new. This side of the Deldran had always been overgrown and wild, home only to the docks and shelters of the ferrymen. So much had changed since their deployment.

Siivalans lined the street, some watching above from balconies as the company approached the Siiyana Bridge. A giant arch of sparkling white rock stretched over the river, docks to either side busy with fishermen and merchants. Two Selvan sentries approached the party from one side of the bridge, their Siivalan counterparts soon joining them from their station opposite. Mella caught fragments of their conversations with Seth and Elzar, condensed reports of the ambush and answers about boat fragments and bodies that had washed ashore a day or two ago. After a short pause, the company crossed the bridge and most of the crowd dispersed.

Some Siivalans ran ahead, and when the group reached the other side several clusters of soldiers and families were waiting.

Mella spotted their mother first. She didn’t wait for permission. The well of emotion she’d felt boring inside flooded over and she ran into her mother’s embrace.

“Oh, Mell, I’m so glad you’re alright,” said Breddel, the familiar scent of spices and parchment rising from her long, silky hair.

“Mother,” said Sevora.

Their mother looked up and beckoned Sevora to join them with a wave.

“You’re both safe now,” said Breddel as they hugged. “I wish your father was here for this. You just missed him. He was summoned two weeks ago to the Malda.”

Seth and Valdaris approached the three women from behind.

“Breddel Embraya,” said Seth with a nod. “I hope you are well.”

“Thank you for bringing my daughters back to me, captain,” she answered. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”

“We are only staying a few days,” said Seth. “But I hope you both get the rest you need. You’ve earned a far longer leave than I am at leisure to give. I’m sorry.”

Mella nodded, then felt her legs give out. She almost pulled her mother down with her and Valdaris jumped in to support her. A wave of vertigo flooded her consciousness as his hand closed on her arm. She saw clouds flying past, felt the rush of wind on her body, saw the sparkling white bridge and bustling town below. Her feeling of loss multiplied tenfold, as though she were experiencing the pain and sorrow of a hundred lives. But she also felt a warm glow, first in her belly, then rising into her lungs as she breathed and into her head as she pushed back onto her feet. Something that had come loose inside her felt like it had been put back in place. It didn’t fill the lingering emptiness in her gut, but it was enough.

“Mella! Mella!” yelled Sevora, snapping her fingers in front of Mella’s eyes.

Mella waved her sister away.

“I’m alright, sis.”

“You are far from alright,” said Breddel.

She looked from Mella to Seth and Sevora with concern.

“She was injured in an ambush along the Deldran,” said Seth. “She needs rest.”

Valdaris let go and Mella caught his eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, unsure exactly what for.

“My pleasure,” he said with a slight bow.

Sevora stepped in, taking Mella’s free arm as the three women turned toward the greater part of Mindan. The town was a trade hub built on the Deldran’s north shore, the mix of Siivalan and Selvan architecture giving it an ambiance as chaotic as the surrounding terrain of rising cliffs and wild forest.

“I can stand,” said Mella.

She grabbed her korossa’s hilt and stretched as she felt the comforting rush of cold energy flow through her spine. For a moment, the world stopped around her. Sensations blended into a swirling tide and every detail became bright and crisp. She stood a little taller and let go of the sword.

Breddel and Sevora stood close but let her walk on her own. Sevora began filling in their mother on the details of the long journey.

“Who was that other man?” asked Breddel. “He was wearing a Ceremai uniform, was he not?”

“Vald, a former artillery captain,” said Sevora. “Not like Dain.”

Mella kept her eyes ahead as Sevora told of Dain’s murder. Breddel and Callum, their father, had only met Dain once, and neither approved of the sisters’ obvious infatuation. But their mother was wise enough to show sympathy now, and she was just as curious as they were about the role the Athamein monks played in Sevora’s story. Mella kept what she’d learned from the Selvan commander to herself.

The trio arrived at their house, a small manor overlooking the town’s western half. A large oak sheltered their mother’s walled garden to the right, and a twisting stone stairway curved around small pools as it led up to the home’s wooden doors.

Inside, Mella climbed the wide wooden staircase to the upper level and used the last of her strength to stagger to her old room. She collapsed on the soft bed and slept better than she had in months, dreaming scattered dreams of swooping dragons, raging fires, and blue and purple creatures armed with bows and axes. And in her last dream, the one that woke her with a start as the sun rose, she saw a snarling wolf with a body of swirling black mist and glowing red eyes.

Chapter 19
Strange Encounters

Seddram Peltan woke the next day to a stiff ache in his neck. Hints of daylight crept through the room’s open doorway. He hoped he hadn’t overslept. Military beds were little improvement to his sleeping mat. He didn’t have many connections in Mindan, so he and Valdaris would stay at the Siivalan barracks during their three-day reprieve. He hoped for longer, but the Selvans were pushing hard for Kartumol. He guessed the ambush would only add to their haste.

Seth got up to ready himself and saw the top bunk was empty. All the bunks were empty. Valdaris must have gone to explore the town, and the soldiers stationed here would be used to an early rise. He was grateful he’d been allowed to sleep in. He figured he’d earned it. But even from the opposite end of town, he hated risking another reason for Sevora to get on his case. The woman was impossible.

Seth still had a full day ahead of him. The heartwood councils needed to hear about the Deldran ambush. Messengers had already gone out before their arrival, calling for naturalists and anatomists to come study the bodies recovered by the docks. The Selvans threatened dockhands with imprisonment to keep the news from alarming the townsfolk, then called on the Siivalan military to summon their scientists in secret. For once, Seth couldn’t blame them. Civilians of both nations were only now settling down after constant fear from dragon attacks, and the last thing they needed was panic over this new threat.

He’d write a formal report later, but for now he was needed at the Selvan outpost. He made his way there after a hot bowl of oats and berries with fresh eggs scrambled in hot spices.

“Welcome, captain,” said the Selvan commander. He offered Seth the seat next to him, one of ten high-backed chairs around a long oval table. Five other Selvans and three Siivalans, all higher rank, sat around the table in perfect uniform, clearly adjusted to town life. Soldiers of every rank had the look of action when the dragon threat was at its worst, but peace had a way of putting everyone in their place.

The meeting was shorter than Seth expected. He had little new knowledge to offer them, and the Selvans were preoccupied with understanding the unique threat these creatures posed if their minds were vulnerable.

“We’re immune to the Rite,” said Seth. “Maybe Siivalans are immune to these creatures in the same way.”

The Selvans tensed, and even the Siivalan commanders looked apprehensive. But conversation soon turned to guessing the creatures’ origins.

None at the table knew why Elzar and the Siivalans had been ordered to Kartumol Fortress. If this new threat came from Kartuma, their reaching this far east and bypassing Mindan unseen was troubling news. But the deadland marshes to the continent’s south were an unlikely origin, with no clear passage north, and no one believed these creatures could have come from the Daemoris. Kartuma, the region of snow-clad wilderness and mountains on Siivala’s western border, was for now their most plausible target.

Elzar and the Siivalan company would continue on to investigate, and Mindan would call for reinforcements to protect the Deldran’s southern shore. With those decisions in place, Seth was dismissed.

He made his way to the outpost’s palatial gatehouse, happy to leave the Selvans’ ominous castle behind. He was about to set off for the barracks when the Selvan commander caught up with him.

“May I join you, captain?” he asked.

“Of course, commander,” said Seth. He had hoped to write his report early, but he was finding himself less at odds with the Selvan than he’d expected after their first encounter at the springs. Hearing just now that even the commander was in the dark about his rushed orders to Kartumol made him harder to blame for abandoning Dain’s body. Leaving the investigation open was the next best thing he could have done.

“I was hoping to find the Cereman,” said Elzar. “My promise of a korossa was not a passing remark. I hope that does not offend.”

“Not me,” said Seth. “A duelist is due his blade. And he wasn’t at the barracks when I left. I believe he went to explore the town.”

“Then perhaps you’ll accompany me,” said Elzar.

Seth nodded, and the pair began walking toward the town’s heart.

“The Ceremai have endured more than any people I know,” said the commander after a few minutes. “When the dragons devastated our armies after the campaign, I thought we were being punished.”

Seth remained quiet.

“Then I heard and saw what the beasts did to entire cities of innocents. There is nothing divine in such cruel, reckless destruction.”

“So this korossa is an act of atonement?” asked Seth.

“Maybe,” said the commander. “But I believe this Cereman has earned the blade regardless. He felled a dragon with a knife-throw and saved countless lives, mine probably included. And he stopped that firebrand of yours from crossing a line she’d not live to regret. As you said, a duelist is due his blade.”

“Indeed.”

Seth thought to ask about Valdaris’s apparent effect on the blades when they spotted him ahead.

He was easy to find. He was sitting at a table set outside near the town square, a large sculpture of a silver tree and a massive obelisk of white stone towering behind him. At the table with him were two old men, very old to Seth’s eyes. All three were sipping glasses of clear, bronze liquid.

“I hope we’re not intruding,” said the commander.

“Oh no, sonny,” said the closer of the two men. “The more the merrier. Though I’m not sure what entertainment an old sod like Jedda here can offer a pair of officers like yourselves. Unless you’re here to arrest him.”

He said the last bit with a wink to his friend.

“For the last time, I’m not a criminal!” yelled Jedda, face turning beet red behind a thin white beard.

“You sure smell like one,” said the other man, clearly enjoying himself.

Valdaris’s shoulders shook in silent laughter as he took another sip from his glass.

“Captain. Commander. Meet my new friends Jedda and Kanna,” said Valdaris, smirking.

“A pleasure,” said Elzar slowly, as though making up his mind while he spoke.

“What brings you to Mindan?” asked Seth.

“What makes you think this isn’t where we’re from, you uptight Siivalan upstart?” said Jedda.

“Call it a hunch,” said Seth, trying his best to stay composed. Who was he calling uptight?

“Don’t mind my cantankerous friend here,” said Kanna with a laugh. “He was raised by a goat, I’ve always said.”

The old man asked them to sit, and when Elzar accepted a chair, Seth followed suit. It was an odd scene, these bickering old men sitting with two captains and a commander around an opened decanter of spirits in the middle of the day. A bartender from the tavern across the street approached with two more glasses, and soon Seth was sipping the best aged otus he’d ever tried, like liquid smoke from a campfire sweetened with honey. This had to have been brought in from the heartwoods. It was probably worth a small fortune to Naemredda buyers.

Seth learned little else about the strangers as they drank in the sun, but he felt at ease. Something about these two men made them seem impervious to all the troubles in the world, as though evil and loss just glanced off. They told endless stories and pried their three new companions for stories of their own, coming alive with each telling as though thriving on every shared experience, every lesson to be learned and sensation to feel. Seth hoped he was half as full of mirth and spirit at their age.

Their time together also put Valdaris Drascar in a new light. The Cereman was an ever-growing mystery to Seth, but now he seemed human. Behind the laughter and those cold blue eyes was someone weathering the same storms.

“Kanna! Jedda!” A squealing voice interrupted his thoughts. A young Selvan girl with golden hair and a pale blue dress skipped to the table. She beamed at the old men, pressing down on the table and jumping so the decanter and glasses almost slid off. “Hi!”

“Well hello there, dearie!” said Kanna. “What a surprise seeing you here!”

“How in the blazing scheth…” Jedda cut himself off, eyes wide.

“Heehee, you’re funny,” said the girl.

Two more strangers approached them from the street, one a young woman with golden hair matching the girl’s and the other an older man with Naemreddan features. They wore matching travel gear in browns and blacks, and an intricate black and silver rod swung from each of their belts.

“You know these men?” asked the woman, brow furrowed with concern but green eyes dangerous, like a coiled snake ready to strike.

The Selvan commander tilted his head.

“Elaryn of house Deldraea, is it not?”

The woman seemed caught off guard for a moment, then collected herself and studied the commander.

“Elzar of house Kanaris. You’re far from home.”

“As are you,” he answered, barely concealing his shock.

She nodded.

“Come, Rhyn. We don’t want to keep these men from their drinks,” said Elaryn with a hint of disdain.

“No, you’re Ryn now, remember?” said Rhyn. “I’m the amazing Lady Rhynwhen!” She twirled twice and curtsied to no one in particular.

“Impossible,” said Elzar, jaw gaping.

“That’s my name!” said Rhyn, daring the commander to question her again.

“My cousin’s name too…” he answered.

Now Elaryn’s eyes were wide.

“The missing heir…”

“Oooh, can I meet her?” said Rhyn. “Rhynwhen is such a pretty name, don’t you think? And Rhyn, and Rinny, and Rin-Rin, and win-win, and—”

“Where are you from?” Elzar asked, calm but loud enough to cut her off.

“From the mountains, I guess,” said Rhyn. “But then there was that silly trip, and all those really loud noises, and hide and seek in the barrels — which I won by the way — but the merchant said he could only give me some candy as a prize, and then we stayed in the city, but I left because his wife is a shrew and the girls at school were always so mean. Where are you from?”

“The same place as you,” said Elzar, clearly taken aback and looking pale.

“My god,” said Elaryn, looking from Rhyn to her companion.

The Naemreddan wore a mixed look of shock and excitement.

Seth looked across the table. Valdaris was staring into his empty glass, smiling.

Chapter 20
Attack on Mindan

Seth had achieved his captain’s rank by recognizing the right opportunities. He was a slow but careful thinker, often catching details his peers missed and making better judgements accordingly. Combatants like Sevora thought quick blades and true shots deserved higher ranks, and she’d always see him as unworthy of his position. But the Embraya sisters had ridden their nobility to their stations as much as he’d ridden his sharp mind to his. So when he learned he was seated with two of his direst foes, every instinct in his body told him to strike now, and strike hard.

He breathed in, letting the haze of emotions settle so he could think.

Elzar and Elaryn began piecing together Rhyn’s past. The Naemreddan stood guard while the excitable child ran circles around the town square’s monuments, symbols of the pact between Siivala and Selvar.

Seth had noticed some deference to Elzar from his men and the commanders at the outpost, but he would never have guessed he was traveling with a member of Selvar’s second-greatest house. The throne of Kanarian lords in the Malda, Selvar’s seat of power, had been empty for five years. The lesser branches of the house had little power without claim to a lord, and the family had diminished with time. They had once been in a position to challenge Morraedd Deldraea, High Lord of Selvar and the most hated Selvan in all Siivala. And now Seth sat next to his daughter.

Somehow, Valdaris had known. Seth’s focus on his enemies wavered as he looked back to the Cereman. Valdaris Drascar had more reason than any Siivalan to hate these Selvans, yet he sat there quietly relishing the reunion. Seth doubted the others noticed, but he was sure. Discovering the lost Kanarian heir in the heart of Mindan was no coincidence. And try as he might, he could not shake an urgent need to understand.

“What will you do?” asked Elaryn.

“A child needs her family, I should say,” said Jedda. He glared at Elzar as though Rhyn’s fate were somehow his fault. “You know we found her roaming the city streets as the empire fell, for shame!”

“She showed up in Darumae two days before the news from Naemralda reached us,” said Elaryn. “You must be mistaken.”

“Oh no, lassie, she was there,” said Kanna. “My uncouth friend may have a direct way of saying so, but that’s a special girl you have there. Protect her.”

The old men took their leave then, thanking the strangers for a splendid afternoon, trading hugs with Rhyn that nearly knocked their legs out from under them, and strolling off toward the main road.

“A strange pair, that,” said Elaryn.

“No stranger than you and the child, I should think,” said the Naemreddan, returning to his spot next to Elaryn while Rhyn stood a few feet from Elzar, sizing up her newly discovered cousin with a wide-eyed stare.

“Any enemy of my father’s…” said Elaryn.

For a moment, alarm and fury passed over the Naemreddan, but he seemed to reconsider his reaction and stayed silent. But everyone present had caught the remark.

“We don’t always get to choose our family,” Elaryn added, looking down at Rhyn. “You can’t let them know who she is. Not yet.”

“You’re staying nearby?” asked Elzar after a pause.

“In the rooms above the tavern,” said Elaryn, nodding to her right.

Another coincidence, thought Seth.

“I’ve been ordered west on reconnaissance,” said Elzar. “She wouldn’t be safe. But I’ll see you again when I return.”

He said the last to Rhyn, who seemed wholly oblivious to the exchange. Elaryn’s perpetual intensity turned into an expression of relief.

With that, Elzar stood and began walking back the way they came. Valdaris followed at a leisurely pace, and Seth was caught sitting there with the familiar feeling he’d missed a cue. He had a habit of getting lost in thought when watching others until someone pulled him out.

“I like your sword,” said Rhyn. She reached for the braided hilt of his korossa, and a moment later, Seth was sprawled out on the cobblestone road.

Shadows danced across his vision, afterimages from the blinding flash of blue light that had erupted from his sword. His head spun, his back ached, splinters from his now shattered chair drove into his thigh, and his heart was racing.

Elaryn rushed to his side.

“Are you alright?”

Her hand touched his arm and he shuffled back in anger and fear before composing himself. He saw resignation in her eyes, as though his reaction were no surprise, and her original intensity returned. No, not intensity. Determination.

“Are you okay, mister?” asked Rhyn, standing over him with her hands behind her back.

A small crowd of passersby gathered around. Valdaris and Elzar rushed back to help the captain up.

“I’m okay,” said Seth as he brushed himself off.

He noticed Elzar glaring over his shoulder. Looking up, he saw two hooded figures turning away from the scene and trying to slip through the crowd. The monks made him uneasy, but there was a fire to Elzar’s reaction he couldn’t account for.

“We should leave,” said the Selvan.

Seth tested his balance, then cautiously let his fingers slide over his korossa’s hilt as a refreshing calm washed over him. He also felt the shift he’d been waiting for, his tangled emotions toward the Selvan nobles unraveled and woven back into focused clarity. He had a plan.

After a pause, Elzar looked back to Elaryn. “You three should come with us. After what just happened, you’ll want to see this. And it isn’t safe for her here.”

“Very well,” said Elaryn.

Rhyn took her hand and the pair walked beside Elzar while the Naemreddan trailed behind. Valdaris joined Seth behind the others, and the group began climbing a winding cobblestone path back to the Siivalan barracks. No one spoke.

Seth understood Elzar wanting the Deldraean heir present for Valdaris’s korossa ceremony. After Rhyn’s display of power, the Selvans would be looking to understand and possess the korossas for themselves. Selvans spoke of their vocalir magic as a slight edge, a gentle push giving them an advantage over the other nations of Naevoroth. But there was nothing subtle about what they’d all just witnessed.

An older Selvan couple walked down toward the group from ahead. The man had a kind, frail look, a ring of silver hair hanging loose from around the polished bald top of his head. He wore thick, crooked spectacles and beige business pants, and a jacket too big for his diminished body. One wrinkled hand clutched a polished wooden cane for support while his other arm reached around the woman, an even frailer figure taking each step with care and clinging to her companion. She had kind eyes and a bright, toothless smile.

On another day, Seth might have found the sight heart-warming.

The company parted to let the couple through. As Elaryn and Rhyn passed, the man turned and let go of the woman. Seth jumped forward and caught her, only to watch in horror as she crumbled into a heap of dust, bones, and a blood-stained dress hanging from his frozen fingers.

The old man pulled a thin blade from the top of his cane. He stood straight and tall now, an imposing figure even from behind, and took a long stride toward Rhyn.

Valdaris was on him before he had the chance to strike. He cut the man’s hand clean off, the blade clinking on stone before it rolled free. The man seemed oblivious to the pain, swinging his bloodied arm as he turned to face his attacker. Valdaris ducked, stepped in, and plunged his long dagger into the old man, stepping in even closer and standing upright to look into the man’s eyes as he died. From his angle below, Seth saw the man’s eyes flash bright orange before turning into charred black holes.

Valdaris pulled the dagger free and spun around as the man’s body crumbled like the woman’s. Seth stumbled onto his backside with a start. Valdaris’s features were tightened into a look of savage intensity, similar to what Seth had seen in Elaryn’s eyes but without her elegance. There was something animal to the Cereman now, like a mother bear roaring with rage as a hunter approaches her cubs. He stood with the dagger out to his side, braced for action.

A gunshot cracked the air from behind just as Valdaris snapped up his hand. Seth blinked in awe. He could see the bullet, suspended in the air a few inches from Valdaris’s palm.

Valdaris stretched out his fingers, and the bullet whizzed past Seth’s ear. It flew with such speed and power that its trail lingered in the air like a line of rippling heat. Seth looked back and saw a Selvan soldier sprawled on the road a few feet away. Around him, a small group of civilians and soldiers ignored the body and prepared to charge. The air was thick with hate. The tan-yellow buildings and white-grey cobblestone appeared darker, as though a low thundercloud barred the sun’s path and sucked up what brightness remained.

A musketeer began raising his gun before taking Valdaris’s dagger to the chest. Seth rolled aside as what looked like a ring of keys jangled against the cobblestone. The woman who’d thrown them withdrew a small knife from her clutch, and all hesitation vanished from his mind.

Seth withdrew and fired his flintlock with lightning speed, glad he’d loaded by habit before setting off from the barracks. The woman fell back as Valdaris rushed into the fray. He dodged a man’s swinging fist and pried the knife from the woman’s hand, then blocked a blow with his free arm, stabbed the man below the armpit and again in the ribs, and used the body as a shield from another musket shot.

Seth slipped his smoking pistol back in its holster and drew his korossa. He parried a sword and slashed the attacker through the middle as Valdaris stretched out his arm. The curved dagger ripped free from the fallen musketeer and flew into Valdaris’s hand. The pair made quick work of the remaining attackers, Valdaris devastating his targets with unfettered skill and ferocity, Seth catching the few who remained with smooth, practiced strikes.

As the last body fell still, Seth looked down at the carnage. Beside him, Valdaris shook his head and sighed.

“Everything’s so different,” he said, wiping his dagger and slipping it back in its scabbard. He turned to Seth. “I’m sure you have questions, and I’ll answer what I can now. But not here. We should get back to the barracks.”

To Seth, that was enough. Valdaris looked up the street to where Elaryn, Elzar, and the Naemreddan were guarding Rhyn. The three adults were frozen in place, Rhyn peeking out from behind Elaryn with eyes wider than when she’d met her cousin.

“You’re one of them,” Elzar said to the Cereman.

“We’re not safe here,” said Valdaris. “If the Order was willing to attack this openly, we’re in more danger than you realize.”

Elayrn and the Naemreddan shared a quick look and reached slowly for the rods at their belts.

“Not your order,” said Valdaris, the hint of a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

Elaryn tightened her grip, but she relented at a look from the Naemreddan.

Valdaris tilted his head, then his eyes went grim.

“Dragon.”

He turned back to Seth and held out his hand.

“I need your korossa. Now! All of you, get up against the wall.”

Seth hesitated, then flipped his blade and held out the hilt. He found himself trusting the Cereman’s urgency and, more to the point, he wanted to understand.

Valdaris grabbed the sword and bolted up the road. As if on cue, a deafening roar echoed overhead, followed by bells chiming across the town. The group braced against the closest building, with Elaryn and Rhyn huddled inside an arched doorway.

Seth tried to reload his pistol while he leaned back against the wall. He never got the chance. Up ahead, a tall, thin building collapsed into the road in crashing heaps of rock and flame. An enormous, scaled neck reached out from the ruins into the street, dark red scales glinting in the fire below.

Valdaris never hesitated. He charged up the road in long strides, dodging the cascade of debris with ease. A crimson, bat-like wing stretched over the street like a canopy before folding as the dragon’s sharp black claws smashed into the cobblestone to Valdaris’s left.

Before the beast could turn his way, an explosion of purple and orange lit up the dragon’s hide. A smaller dragon swooped by overhead, hints of navy and pine green obscured by rising smoke. Seth recognized the creature from the Deldran. And from when they first met Valdaris. Seth’s jaw and pistol dropped in unison.

The larger dragon, easily twice the size of any Seth had encountered, struggled as a building wall crumbled under its legs. Valdaris jumped forward, dodging the bright liquid fire rolling off its scales, pivoted in place, then leapt forward again with force and speed that defied Seth’s eyes. The dragon roared in agony. With another pivot, Valdaris withdrew the full length of the korossa from the dragon’s flank and swept upward in a wide arc as the monster’s neck came down. Valdaris spun out of the way as streams of black blood and bright yellow liquid fire gushed from the wound. The building above the group shook as the beast’s wings and tail thrashed about in a dying frenzy, cracked rock battering Seth’s arms and back as it fell. Then, finally, the beast grew still, its massive jaws snapping twice in the street before lolling open.

The group emerged from their shelter in a daze. The town bells still chimed in alarm, and slowly a crowd gathered around the beast. Some came running with buckets of water that they let hang loose by their sides, wary of spreading the liquid fire. The destruction had been mostly contained to the street.

Seth’s eyes watered from the smoke, the pungent stench of burning flesh and oil stinging his nostrils. Elzar approached a few Selvan soldiers nearby and began coordinating a lookout and recovery effort. Seth decided to leave them to it — he was growing wary of being near supposed allies who could turn murderous without notice. Though he supposed that had always been the relationship between Siivala and Selvar. Beside him, Rhyn held Elaryn’s arm and mumbled something incoherent, staring into space with glazed eyes.

After a few minutes, a soldier walked toward them through the smoke, Seth’s korossa in hand. He passed the sword to the commander, who studied it before holding it out to Seth. The cords around the hilt were charred and hanging loose.

Elzar turned back to the soldier.

“Where is the Cereman?”

Chapter 21
Cloak and Dagger

Drascar dropped the korossa in a puddle of dragon fire, relinquishing the feeling of cool springwater in his veins as he slipped under the beast’s twitching wing. Turning right, he ducked past the canopy of dark skin into the crumbling remains of a doorway. He’d done his part, and now the ruby had other plans.

His mind was on fire. He felt himself slipping away with each passing day, memories of a life he’d never lived flooding in and drowning out the artillery captain who’d just wanted a little control over his destiny. Now that he knew the cost, he wanted to run, as far and fast as his legs would take him. But the ruby had shown him what was coming, and he couldn’t abandon the people of this world — even if it meant losing himself to the destiny he’d been assigned.

He climbed over rubble and turned into the ruined remains of a living room. The far wall had collapsed, giving him an easy entrance into the next house. Once inside, he climbed narrow stairs and found what he was looking for — flames crawled up the walls from a large pool of dragon fire and would soon spread to the adjacent homes. He saw in a brief vision the devastation Mindan would face before its desperate people finally cordoned off the inferno and let it run its course.

He needed this town to survive.

Drascar held out his hand and watched the ruby glow bright red, scarlet beams bouncing off the walls and flaming oils as his mind slipped into a familiar trance. Another voice, another mind, took over. He watched from within a sinking calm as the oils rose off the floor in globs and trickles, still burning an intense yellow. The flames along the walls shrank and vanished in whiffs of smoke, charred wood and hints of burning ember staining the walls in an uneven coat.

The entire puddle of dragon fire rose and melded back into a single floating pool, twisting and folding like a caged serpent. Strands of gold light reached out from the ruby and joined others in the air around the fire, weaving around the liquid like a net before melting into the flaming mass. Bright yellow turned orange, then red, and the flames slowly gave way until only rippling oils in silver and black laced with strings of gold energy remained. The oil turned darker still, slowly stretching out into a canvas of smooth navy like midnight storms.

Drascar felt his legs move, his awareness pulled forward by the ring’s will as the dark canvas folded around him. The material glided over his skin and settled over his jacket, the dragon oils now replaced by a dense, velvety fabric like tightly woven silk. The shadowy cloak pulled on his shoulders as the fabric wrapped around his arms and draped down to the creaking floorboards, catching on splinters where the beams were weakened by the fire and cracked under his weight.

“Incredible.”

Drascar’s voice startled him — he’d spoken aloud and regained control of his body.

“Can I have one?”

Drascar tensed, caught off guard for the first time in days. Cleary, the visions and knowledge overwhelming his mind had limits. At least today he was lucky — the voice came from a small boy standing two feet behind him. He turned and smiled.

“It’s safe now,” said Drascar. “What’s your name?”

“Ambden, sir,” said the boy.

He had messy black hair and plain but fine-fitting clothes covered in dust. Drascar noticed a small wardrobe over his shoulder with polished blackwood doors hanging open. His family must have been rather well off to afford prized blackwood from the Siivalan heartwoods.

“Nice to meet you, Ambden,” said Drascar. “You were smart to hide in there. Where’s your family?”

“My pa’s to market, sir,” said Ambden. “My ma passed last spring.”

Drascar studied the boy. He had sad eyes but spoke in an even, matter-of-fact tone. He fidgeted with a small puzzle box between his fingers.

“May I sit?” asked Drascar. He pulled his new cloak to the side and leaned against the creaking wall before Ambden could respond. He wasn’t tired — not in the flesh, at least — but he sensed he was here for a reason.

“You stopped the fire,” said the boy.

“Indeed.”

“I thought fire from dragons burned for days.”

“Sometimes longer,” said Drascar.

He closed his eyes. A vision passed through Drascar’s mind of open fields beyond a great stone city. Mountains towered over the palaces and glistening towers while sparks of light from cannons flashed along the city walls. The fields burned, a swarm of dragons in the dozens swooping down from above and igniting rows of homes on the city’s outskirts.

The vision flickered and gave way as Drascar opened his eyes.

“May I see that?” he asked.

The boy nodded and handed Drascar the puzzle box. The square toy was barely two inches wide on all sides, deep red wood hinting once more at the family’s ties to the heartwoods. A tiny maze was etched into each face of the box, small metal pins poking out and meant to be led through each maze before the box would open. Drascar sensed a rubeline acorn hidden within.

A fleeting sadness skipped off Drascar’s awareness. He knew the doom fast approaching the woodland capital, but the acorn gave him an idea.

“How about a trade?”

Drascar held out the box on the palm of one hand, then used the other to fish into his tiger eye pouch. Warmth passed through his fingers and filled one of the golden marbles until it glowed through the silk and split in two. He pulled out the duplicate and held it out for the boy.

“Your choice.”

Ambden’s eyes lit up. And he hadn’t even seen the best part — as he watched, the golden orb glowed as though dropped in a furnace. The glimmering surface shifted from gold to orange, then cooled to a dark blue-green as the metal morphed before their eyes into translucent glass.

“What is it?” asked Ambden. He reached out before Drascar could answer, grabbing the crystal orb and holding it an inch from his nose. He had the look of a boy easily lost in the mazes of his own mind.

Drascar smiled. He’d always liked children. A rare few could be cruel, but most of those only lashed out from pain or ignorance. The rest were innocent, wells of potential not yet tainted by the trials of life. Children had a freedom and sense of play he missed.

“It’s a secret,” said Drascar. “Another puzzle for you to solve. But you have to promise to keep this between us, okay?”

“Yessir,” said Ambden, nodding.

Faint orange light swirled within the ruby on Drascar’s ring, and the green orb in Ambden’s hand responded with ripples of turquoise. The boy stared in awe.

Drascar rested a little longer, pleased with his newest creation. He knew it might be years before he’d return to Mindan, but now there’d be something to come back to. Little did the boy know he’d just sown the first seed of a new age, and a world free of the draemeir.

Chapter 22
Schemes in the Dark

They never found Valdaris’s body, but neither did they find remains. Seth was sure he’d survived, though he kept his thoughts to himself as they searched. By sunset, the remaining fires were put out and three survivors had been rescued from the rubble. Fewer than a dozen died in the attack.

Elzar called off the search for the Cereman once townsfolk were forced to look by lantern and candlelight. Seth was dismissed and made his way back to the barracks. He took a longer path back through the town’s heart and found a bench near the monuments, watching light from lampposts play along the silver branches. A cool breeze ruffled his sleeves, light green now stained by ash and soot.

He didn’t need long to make up his mind. Tomorrow, he would seek out Breddel and her daughters to share the day’s discoveries. He could count on Sevora to do something foolish, maybe even removing the Selvan threat herself with some rash action. Mella would try to stop her sister, of course, and he’d feign agreement, which would only guarantee Sevora’s decision to do the opposite. Breddel would send word to the other matrons and spread news of Elzar and Elaryn’s presence, then secure their stores of korossas so the Selvans couldn’t exploit their newfound capabilities. With any luck, Seth’s role as instigator would go unnoticed. He needed to stay close to the threat so he could unravel the Cereman’s mysteries when he returned.

His next move chosen, he set off for the barracks. The night had grown cloudy and thick shadows obscured the complex. Besides two sentries at the gate, he met no other Siivalans on his way inside. Most were still on lookout for more dragons, and the rest of the regiment would be at taverns or in the dining hall. He thought of joining them, perhaps finding Marrin and Datha for a game of cards, but he decided to let his men have their space. They were simple soldiers, not the types to thrive on growing intrigue, and he thought better of including them until his plans were cemented.

He turned into the sleeping quarters, eerily empty and dark for the hour, and heard shuffling behind him.

“Hello, Seddram.” The voice was Breddel’s. “Seddram… such a Naemreddan-sounding name, I’ve always thought.”

“Or Selvan, mother,” said Sevora, rising from one of the bunks behind him.

His eyes adjusting, he made out Mella sitting on the opposite bunk.

“Recognize this?”

Sevora was holding what looked like a medieval longsword. A glimmering ruby pointed up from the hilt and a thin blade of sharpened crystal, like a mix of dark quartz and topaz, reached down to the barracks floor. She held the sword higher, and Seth noticed stains of dark red along the full length of the blade. He took the hilt carefully, amazed by the sword’s light weight.

“We found a ring in your bag,” said Sevora. “Black serpents, coiled around a ruby? When I touched it, this sword appeared in my hand. Sounds impossible, I know, but all three of us saw it.”

“What were you doing in my—” His voice cut out with a gurgle as Sevora’s korossa slashed his throat.

“For Dain.”

“Scheth!” cried Mella. “You weren’t supposed to kill him!”

“Come now, Melladar,” said Breddel. “We must leave.”

Seth clutched a hand to his neck as the stained sword clattered to the ground. Warm blood flowed through his fingers and down his throat, the sharp taste of iron making him lurch as his legs gave out and he fell to his knees. He tried to open his mouth and agonizing pain shot through his neck and spine. Mella jumped away as he collapsed on his side, shock and horror plaguing her face. As he rolled onto his back, Sevora stepped over his body without ceremony, rushing her sister away.

Lying still on the cold floor, Seth felt nothing. He knew his life was draining away, yet his mind was clear. Every detail became crisp, every fold of fabric on the beds as captivating as an ocean wave, every line etched in the wooden frames a masterwork of art. All the burdens and responsibilities and expectations of life were stripped away, replaced by absolute calm.

For a moment, Seth thought there was no better way to meet one’s end.

Deeper in the shadows of the long room, darkness rippled into a form. A cloaked figure stepped forward, drawing a long, curved dagger from his belt.

Valdaris.

Seth’s eyes went wide and his heart raced, pumping blood out of his wound in short bursts. Valdaris knelt beside him, blue eyes shining under his hood like glowing sapphires. He reached out and pulled Seth’s hand away from his neck, the captain’s arm too weak to resist. Seth watched in horror as the gleaming white steel of that curved blade came down to his neck. Valdaris pressed the blade’s edge into the wound and sharp, stinging pain made Seth cringe and tighten his whole body.

After a pause, Valdaris withdrew the dagger and the pain dissipated, replaced by a growing warmth that climbed through Seth’s torn muscle and down his throat, settling in his stomach like hot tea. The heat grew and spread until he felt a rush of strength and energy that burst out like an exploding reserve. The bunks and walls shook around them.

Valdaris offered his hand and helped the captain to his feet.

“Now we can talk.”

Chapter 23
Twisted Memories

The patrols returned after a few hours, wary of becoming easy prey in the dead of night. Elzar doubted the second dragon would return, at least not to attack. He was sure now: this same dragon had fought its kin above the Varessi springs, had flown over the Deldran before the ambush, and had attacked the first dragon yesterday. That blast of fire had distracted the first beast long enough for the Cereman to strike, likely saving their lives.

Elzar was far more troubled by the slaughter he’d witnessed before the dragon attack. Valdaris and Seddram acted in defense, yet the commander had watched civilians, men and women, gunned and knifed down like beasts. And beasts were what they had become, turned against their own just as his men had been on the Deldran. Elzar had assumed the ambushers, those vile, unknown creatures, had been responsible, and he’d hoped the patrols would chance upon more as they searched the surrounding woods. He called out the entire Siivalan regiment to ensure no party had more than half its men from Selvar in case they turned, though few knew the risks. But no more Selvans turned, and the patrols found no signs of the humanoid creatures or other dragons in the area. For now, Mindan was safe.

Back at the outpost, a guard informed Elzar the keep’s ranking officer had summoned him. He made his way up the long, winding stairs to the second level and knocked at a short wooden door. The hinges screeched as he pushed the door open. He had to duck to enter the colonel’s office, but past a narrow arch the room opened into a spacious — even luxurious — chamber, fit for a Selvan lord. The colonel was anything but.

Colonel Maduka was a short, sniveling man with greasy hair, food-stained military attire stretched over a protruding belly, angry eyes set above a bulbous nose and a mouth twisted into something between a snicker and a snarl. He rarely left his office and the adjoining bedroom. The colonel slumped over his desk, wetting his yellowish fingers while sifting through piles of disheveled papers. Beside him, a tall, severe woman with beetle-black hair scrutinized the newcomer with open disdain.

“You’re late,” said the colonel.

“Sir.”

The colonel’s glare turned livid.

“By all accounts, you were present at the murders of almost a dozen Selvans, six of them civilians. Why have there been no arrests?”

“What happened during the Deldran ambush happened here,” said Elzar. “Those civilians and soldiers attacked my party in a crazed frenzy. We’re lucky to have escaped with our lives, even before the dragon showed up.”

“Kanaris, while I appreciate your need to make a name for yourself given your, shall we say, unfortunate origins, I will not entertain slights against the dead to cover your failures.”

“The heat of battle can be a trying place, as I’m sure you know,” said the woman. She spoke with an almost sing-song voice at complete odds with her severe expression and hateful eyes. “You must forgive the commander any lapses in judgement. Is it not true that the Siivalan company led the convoy down the Deldran?”

“That is not common knowledge,” said Elzar. “May I ask who you are to be privy to military affairs?”

“The leading party should have kept watch and bears the larger part of the blame, I should think,” she said, ignoring his question. “And now Selvans are being cut down in the streets without recourse. Infatuation can lead even the most steadfast soldier astray, but I pray you reconsider this senseless betrayal of your nation’s and family’s interests. Those guilty must face justice.”

Elzar remained calm, letting a feigned look of confusion play across his features while he seethed within. He was not unaccustomed to the corrupt and manipulative snakes who dominated Selvan politics. He’d endured their envy and scorn most of his life. And he was more than familiar with desperate hunts for a scapegoat. But he had to admit he was impressed. This unlikely pair had made quick work of seizing an opportunity to scheme his downfall and instigate conflict with Siivala. A seduced commander covering for the crimes of his Siivalan lover’s compatriots made quite the tale. The mob would believe it.

“You are dismissed, commander,” said Colonel Maduka.

Elzar turned, but not before noticing a flickering red mist shimmering around the strange woman’s body. A second, ethereal woman in a scarlet dress stepped out to her right, and Elzar swore he heard a sinister, cackling laugh before the vision disappeared. He blinked, catching the hateful stares from the corrupt pair as they waited for him to depart, and ducked under the short doorway. Once safely around the corner, he shivered.

Elzar made his way out of the keep at an even pace. He walked a short distance to the site of the earlier attack, taking a wide path around an area where light from lanterns flickered on dried blood. He used the silver Siivalan tree as a guide forward until he reached the spot where the captain’s korossa had burst with energy. A black line streaked across the cobblestone marked where the blast had charred the ground, and splinters from the captain’s chair were still scattered under the tables.

He touched his fingers to the charred rock, rubbed the soot from his fingers, and carried on. He looked at the tavern briefly but walked past to a small shop a few doors down on the next street. He would seek out his cousin tomorrow. For now, he needed rest and space.

A small bronze key from his pocket unlocked the shop’s door, which Elzar closed and locked behind him with a careful glance down the street. Onlookers during the day would assume he was a homesick soldier seeking out the Selvan antiques and wood carvings from the lake country the store was known for. It was a quaint but comfortable shop. At night, however, people might question his presence.

He made his way to the back and climbed a narrow staircase to the second floor, then up again to a small attic room the shopkeeper had prepared for him. The firm mattress on the floor could have been filled with feathers for how quickly Elzar fell asleep, his armor and jacket cast off in a corner but his sword tucked under the mattress where he could reach it.

He dreamed of being pursued through a shantytown by two men with pistols. No matter how fast he ran or how well he hid, they always found him. The dream repeated again and again. Eventually, he found shelter behind a building at the decrepit town’s edge. A dirtied river and field of dead grass stretched out before him. Without warning, his body floated up, a slow drift carrying him higher and higher into open space. This happened twice. The first time, his pursuers found their floating prey an easy target for their guns. The second time, he floated much higher, head dizzying from the height as he almost touched the clouds before a dragon broke through and snatched him in wicked jaws.

Elzar woke to light glinting off his armor, thin beams of orange from the rising sun split by wooden shutters. He staggered over to the attic window, glad to see the street below was empty.

He readied himself and climbed down to the second level, turning a corner to a small kitchen. The shopkeeper and her husband sat at a small, round table. He joined them and gratefully accepted a mug of spiced tea, the taste of cloves and warm milk soothing his nerves. He was glad some Siivalans still remembered his family’s support. More than a few Selvans, himself included, thought his branch of the family had Siivalan in their bloodline, yet another reason to be excluded from higher status.

He politely declined their offer of breakfast, wanting to leave before the townsfolk emerged and also trying to limit the burden he placed on the couple. He’d grab something from the tavern, or else he’d dine with his remaining men later. By the time he reached the shop’s entrance, he had to stop behind a shelf as a man walked past the doorway, but otherwise his path was clear. He stepped out into the fresh air and breathed in, bracing for the new day.

It was time to find Rhynwhen. He felt a tightness in his stomach as he walked the short distance to the tavern. He remembered a time when children flocked to him, but those days ended when he grew into his own. He was tall, even for a Selvan, and built broad but lean, an imposing combination of endurance and strength. Children became shy around him, even those unaware of his lineage, and efforts to be friendly only seemed to scare them away.

Elzar opened the tavern door and basked in the welcome smell of sizzling meats. Elaryn and the Naemreddan sat at a table near the back, a large man in a greasy apron laughing while Rhyn stood spinning a coin on the table. All four turned as Elzar entered, and Rhyn yelped as the heavy coin fell off the table and struck her bare toe. She hopped on her other foot while clasping her toe, stumbled forward, looked back up at Elzar, and froze. She didn’t seem scared — just startled, trying to appear composed after her blunder, and somehow that put Elzar at ease.

“How might I help ya?” asked the man.

“Some of whatever you have on would be lovely,” said Elzar, nodding to Elaryn as he made his way over. The Naemreddan offered him a spot next to him on the round booth.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” said Elzar.

“Mekkos of Darumae,” said the man, shaking his hand. Elzar got the distinct impression that was as much as he’d discover today and turned to Elaryn.

“How is she?” he asked.

“Who, me?”

Elzar was taken aback as his cousin rushed to the table. Rhyn leaned on the edge with excitement. “I got to see a dragon! There were never dragons in the big city. It was so big! And that strange man saved us! He wears funny clothes. I had a dream about him last night! He was playing with flying marbles.”

Elaryn covered her mouth to hide a smile, but she grew serious as she looked back to Elzar. He shook his head — Valdaris was still missing.

“Don’t worry,” said Rhyn. “He’s around.”

“What do you mean?” asked Elzar. “Have you seen him?”

“Sure, silly,” said Rhyn. “He was walking around that big, shiny tree when I woke up.”

“Well, maybe we can look for him together,” said Elzar. “I owe him a sword. And you may even get to see him use it again.”

“Okay.”

“That’s settled, then,” said Elaryn. “I’m curious about this Cereman myself, after what we all saw. I wonder if we might have a word before then, commander. Though I’ll let you eat first.”

He nodded in gratitude. His mouth watered as the man returned with a plate of eggs, seasoned potatoes, sausage, and thick, chewy bacon. He pulled out a few sivems and told the man to keep the change. This meal was worth its weight in gold.

Elaryn took Rhyn to their rooms to get her some shoes while Elzar ate. Mekkos answered some questions after all, telling how he met Elaryn after her company strayed too far west on a diplomatic mission to Darumae and was attacked by raptors. The Deldraean was the only survivor, arriving in Darumae a month before Rhyn. Mekkos began telling of himself, how he operated some sort of brokerage for trade between Selvar and Naemredd using Darumae as a hub, when Rhyn came running back to the table.

“Can we go now?” she said, leaning once more on the table while eyeing Elzar’s plate.

“Why don’t you finish that for me?” said Elzar. “I’ll be right back.”

He slid out of the booth and nodded to Elaryn, who led him down a short hallway to a back room near the stairs.

“That attack yesterday,” she began. “Not the dragon. The people. Our people. I saw something like that before.”

“So have I,” said Elzar. “A week ago, when we were ambushed along the Deldran on our way here.”

“So it’s more than rumor,” said Elaryn. “There were stories of strange creatures, but after yesterday—”

“When did you see something like this?” asked Elzar.

Elaryn paused as though reliving a memory. “My father… but it wasn’t the same. Some men from Naemredd came to his manor. I watched from the balcony above — they didn’t know I was there. I saw him hold out his hand, and then the Naemreddans began shrieking like animals. They drew their swords and began killing each other until just two were left. I never saw their faces because of the hoods they wore, but my father told them to leave, and they did without a word. And then I watched my father’s servants come out and start clearing the bodies, as though there were nothing out of the ordinary. One of those servants was my closest friend. That’s what scared me more. I’ve seen my father’s cruelty and manipulation before, but this… this was pure evil. I could feel it in the room.”

Elzar remained quiet. As he caught the familiar description of hooded Naemreddans, he began to think he’d found the source of the Maldan dictate ordering his company to Kartumol.

To their right, wood creaked from up the stairs. As Elzar turned his head, he saw the unmistakable outline of a brown hooded cloak stepping in through the tavern door.

Chapter 24
Athamein Attempt

Elzar tried to draw his sword as a slamming force threw him back against a wall.

“Luh’vein!” Rhyn’s voice rang like a melodious bell, resonating off the tavern walls. The long window beside the doorway exploded into the street and the Athamein monk flew out through the gap.

A second monk emerged from the stairway. He held his palm out toward Elaryn and nothing happened. He stretched his hand again, a look of hate and panic filling his eyes.

Elaryn’s hand shot out and the monk yelled in pain. He stepped back, clutching his wrist, but the Deldraean gave no quarter. She planted a fierce kick in his chest that slammed his back to the wall, then stepped forward with a black rod in both hands and jabbed him with the cylinder’s flat end. She let go, the rod stuck in place and pinning the monk to the wall, then landed a bone-crushing hook across his face that knocked him out.

Elzar got back on his feet slowly, unsure how to respond. Elaryn reached for the metal rod and red-blue sparks shot from its end as the monk fell dead to the floor, a streak of blood following him down the wall.

Mekkos entered the back room with a hand on Rhyn’s shoulder. She looked down at the body with glazed eyes.

“He wasn’t very nice,” she said.

Elzar shook his head. His newfound cousin had the strangest responses to the world around her.

“No, he wasn’t,” said Elaryn. She turned to Elzar. “They’re coming for her, commander. We never meant to put her in danger. I need to take her away from here.”

“I don’t believe we’re their only target,” said Mekkos. “They couldn’t have known we’d be in Mindan.”

“I need you to tell me what’s happening here, Deldraean,” said Elzar. Elaryn looked shocked by the name, which was what he intended. “How can I trust either of you with the heir to my family’s throne after what I’ve seen here?”

“You’ve seen what they can do, Kanaris,” she answered, eyes cold and intense. “And now you’ve seen what she can do.” She looked to Mekkos, who nodded before she continued.

“These monks are part of a disease that knows no boundaries, no borders. We’re trapped in a war for survival we don’t yet understand. They aren’t some cult vying for power. They’re one of many faces worn by the same evil, each expression warring with the others and holding its own aims. It’s no coincidence a dragon arrived right after yesterday’s attack.”

“You’re saying they somehow control the dragons?” asked Elzar.

“No. The dragons have killed as many Naemreddans as Selvans,” she answered. “We think it was drawn to the power from the Siivalan’s korossa.”

“The time to speculate will come, but for now we need to move,” said Mekkos. “If the other monk survived, every vulnerable Selvan in this town is now a threat.”

“So the Siivalans are immune,” said Elzar.

“To overt control, yes,” said Mekkos. “But there are other means of influence this enemy can use.” He gently pulled Rhyn from the room. “Come, child.”

“Where will you go?” asked Elzar.

“Kartumol,” said Elaryn.

Elzar stopped dead.

“What?” she asked.

“I was ordered to reinforce Kartumol with my men and the Siivalan company I came with,” said Elzar. “The order came from a Maldan dictate handed to me by the monks.”

“My father…” Elaryn’s face went pale. “To our knowledge, he is the only lord in league with the Athamein. If he ordered this… we were right.”

She looked back to Rhyn, now standing with Mekkos by the tavern bar.

“Right about what?” asked Elzar.

“Mekkos and I are part of a group trying to understand and fight back,” said Elaryn. “We’ve all seen things, lost people… but when Rhyn showed up in Darumae, everything changed. That child knows things… knows when the evil is going to strike, even if she can’t tell us exactly where or how. And three weeks ago, she woke from a nightmare in tears, screaming the name ‘Kartumol’ over and over.”

“So that’s why you’re here?” asked Elzar. “But why bring her with you? Why endanger her like this?”

“I can’t protect her from afar,” said Elaryn. “And I didn’t know who she was. Even before I knew, I’d have told you she’s safer away from Maldan intrigue. Can you imagine her life when others discover what she can do? On our way here I saw her freeze over half a small lake with a whisper.”

Elzar paused to think.

“We need to leave,” said Mekkos. “Do you know any Siivalans in Mindan you can trust?”

“Some,” said Elzar. “Follow me.”

He led the group out the tavern door while the owner pretended to wipe down the bar, jaw hanging open and face starch white. Outside, the streets were still quiet, and the other monk was gone.

Elzar dismissed any thought of returning to the antique shop. It was too close, and he had no wish to repay the couple’s kindness with danger. He knew where he wanted to go, and who he wanted to see.

From what he knew, the Siivalan sisters had a manor on the town’s western side, conveniently opposite the Selvan outpost to the east. He intended to seek protection and supplies from the Siivalan barracks, but taking a longer path around the town’s edge would better their chances of avoiding townsfolk. And he sensed the Siivalan captain and his company were key to what was coming. A growing threat pressed against the back of his head, a throbbing intuition that made him want to look back every few paces.

The others followed Elzar away from the main road and up through the narrower streets where the terrain became less even. Eventually, a steep, winding walkway opened to a large courtyard of tan-yellow and brown cobblestone.

Rhyn grabbed Elzar’s hand for a moment, then skipped ahead of the group and turned back pointing to their right.

“See! See!” She was pointing to a wider street that connected to the courtyard from below. The Siivalan captain and the Cereman were just arriving at the street’s end.

Both looked different. Seddram seemed cautious, indecisive even, and walked just slightly behind the Cereman. As they came closer, Elzar noticed a long scar across the right of the Siivalan’s neck running parallel to his chin. The Cereman still bore his military suit, but over it all he now wore a long, hooded cloak of rich wool, or thick silk perhaps, navy but so dark it switched from blue to black with each step he took. Despite his striking, even commanding, attire, the Cereman seemed somehow diminished, out of focus, as though Elzar’s vision blurred when he looked.

Just as they entered the courtyard, Elzar caught movement ahead and saw the two Siivalan sisters and a woman he presumed was their mother coming down winding stone steps. Once at the bottom step, all three froze in place.

They were looking at Seddram and Valdaris. Melladar took a step back, her face as bloodless as it had been fresh out of the Deldran. Sevora shot a look at their mother, then looked back at the two captains, eyes wide. Seddram stood a little taller now, studying the three women from afar. Valdaris just glared, his once amiable and relaxed expression replaced by a look of pure rage and contempt. He raised his right hand slowly, facing the back of his hand out toward the three Siivalans. Sunlight glimmered off a ruby for all to see before the Cereman lowered his hand and continued walking toward Elzar and the others.

Elzar couldn’t guess the ring’s significance, but the three women stood fixed at the courtyard’s edge for several seconds before Breddel and Sevora drew themselves up and stepped forward. Melladar followed behind, looking shaken to the core.

“Hello, commander,” said the Cereman. He was smiling.

Chapter 25
A Gift of Swords

“So, you’re alive,” said Elzar.

Rhyn strolled up to the Cereman and started playing with his new cloak’s fabric.

“Oh, so smooth,” she said. “Can I have one?”

“Maybe someday,” said Valdaris, chuckling. Looking down at Rhyn, he seemed at ease, his air of mystery temporarily suspended. It came back in a flash, a brisk return to seriousness as the three women approached.

“I — ahem — understand I have you to thank for saving my daughter,” said Breddel. She put on a quick air of regal composure, eyeing Seddram once before bowing to Elzar. “And I must express continued gratitude to you and your people for your protection. We never imagined the dragons would come this far west. The sight of the beasts flying overhead was a wonder to behold.”

“We were lucky to suffer so few losses,” said Elzar. “And we’ve contained the damage, though the body will take some time to dispose of. In the meantime, I came here to seek you out. We may be the ones needing your protection now.”

Elzar held back what details he could, unsure how far he could trust the Siivalan matron. When she spoke of her daughters, her manner was that of a caring mother, perhaps the stricter sort, but genuine. But in any other context, on any other topic, she struck him as the most insincere person he’d ever met. Every syllable she spoke was exaggerated, her voice jumping from highs to lows while her face remained stoically rigid. She reminded Elzar of the woman from the keep with the sing-song voice, if less spiteful and severe.

He was desperate enough to follow through, though, telling of the two most recent attacks and asking for shelter and supplies. Melladar stirred from her stupor when he mentioned the Athamein monks. Sevora and Breddel showed no love for the monks but seemed shocked by the news of their attempted violence. He gathered from their response that Melladar had withheld the suspicions he’d shared with her about the monks on the way to Mindan. He made mental note of her discretion.

Breddel seemed eager to speed the Selvans on their way, in the end, and walked back toward the manor before disappearing behind a wall by the entrance. Sevora explained that her mother kept a study in the back of her garden. Breddel returned shortly after with a sealed envelope for Elzar to present at the barracks, then explained she had urgent business in town and rushed off.

“Let’s get a move on, then,” said Sevora. She turned toward the road Valdaris and Seddram had come from, then set off at a brisk pace and collided shoulders with Seddram as she stepped past.

Elzar watched the Siivalan captain grip his korossa, his face now a picture of rage. His hand only slid away from the sword at a cautionary look from the Cereman. Elzar wondered how wise it would be to stay near such growing animosities. The tension in the Siivalan group felt like a powder keg ready to blow. Even Rhyn took a step back, sidling up to Elaryn’s side before the rest of the group set off after Sevora.

The street took a long curve down to the town gates, then followed a straighter path to the Siivalan barracks. Once there, Breddel’s letter did little to wipe looks of disdain from the guards’ faces, but they let the Selvans enter without a word. Sevora found quarters for Rhyn and Elaryn while Seddram escorted the others to the armory.

“You look like you’re preparing for war,” said Melladar. She’d remained quiet until now but had walked by Elzar’s side all the way to the barracks.

“We have no way of knowing what to expect at Kartumol,” said Elzar.

“You’re still going?” she asked. “Why follow through on orders from men who tried to kill you?”

“Because my people—” He looked back toward the armory doors. “My people will never be safe until we understand this threat. And neither will yours. I learned long ago that swimming with the current takes you further in life, even if the destination is far from where you wanted to be.”

She lowered her head, then looked over to Seddram and Valdaris. The Cereman inspected a flintlock while the captain gathered travel gear into bundles by the far wall.

“Captain, there’s something we discussed earlier,” said Elzar. “About a duelist being due his blade. I fear this will be my only opportunity to keep my word.”

Seddram nodded. He left the armory and returned a minute later with two Siivalans in bright green and brown uniforms with gold trim. One of the men grabbed an ornate silver key from a ring on his belt. He approached a large, polished cabinet between rows of weapon racks, mostly muskets and infantry short swords. The key turned in a rusted iron padlock and the two men unwound a heavy chain before opening the cabinet’s glass panel doors.

“Vald,” said Seddram. “Choose.”

“He can’t—” said Mella, before Seddram cut her off with a look, more one of reproach than anger. Mella lowered her head in something like a bow and stepped back.

Valdaris finished securing his new pistol in a holster strapped to his belt, then approached through the maze of weapon racks while the rest gathered by the cabinet. A few more Siivalan soldiers entered the armory, some looking just freshly awoken after the long night on patrol. Valdaris seemed indifferent to the occasion, though not without respect. He did, however, reach without hesitation for a korossa from the top row in the cabinet. Two rows of swords below descended in quality, the middle row holding swords with blackwood hilts marked by amber veins. The bottom row held swords no less deadly, but without decoration or embellishment. They were little better than the Siivalan captain’s.

The sword Valdaris chose rivaled those carried by the Embraya sisters. The long, curved hilt was a deep red-black, polished cherry wood imported from southern Naemredd. Purest azurial twisted in intricate swirls throughout the wood and formed a sharp, curving point at the base like a fang. Elzar had seen the material only a few times in his life. Azurial-craft was a lost Selvan art, liquifying the dark blue crystal and shaping it to any form. It could be combined with other substances like powdered stone or resins, and, once solid, the rock or glass composites were stronger than diamond. This korossa must have been centuries old, and the Siivalans seemed wholly unaware of its true value.

As Valdaris held up the blade, the azurial slowly turned into a glowing teal color that became bright turquoise as it rose. The light crawled between his fingers and up the hilt, where it met the long, curving blade of teal metal, dark greens and blues ringing out like chimes rustling in the wind as Valdaris moved the sword in a slow circle. Taldrine: one of the rarest metals on the continent, maybe even the world. It was long thought to come from islands in the northern seas or another continent altogether. No native source in Naevaroth had ever been found. Elzar almost regretted keeping his word. This sword was fit for a high lord.

The light from the hilt vanished. Valdaris reached for a black leather scabbard in the cabinet, slid the blade down its length, and strapped it to his left hip. As he turned, Elzar was struck by the sight of tears dripping down both Valdaris’s cheeks. The Cereman had to steady himself on a weapon rack before wiping his eyes. Seddram turned to the commander with a puzzled look, the unspoken question passing between them before Elzar shook his head.

The weight of the Cereman’s sadness caught Elzar off guard. He coughed before managing to speak. “Now, I think another gift is in order this day. Captain, your korossa was damaged in the dragon attack. For your heroics in two ambushes this last week alone, I would have you choose a new blade on one condition. You will accept it in return for accompanying me to Kartumol.”

No one spoke. Valdaris caught Elzar’s eye, a look of approval, even admiration, warming his features.

Seddram turned serious, back to his usual look of calculating calm and brow creased in thought as he looked down at the sword by his side. Elzar prayed he would accept. They both knew the blade was undamaged, and the frayed cord around the hilt could easily be replaced. But the captain lacked authority and respect with his company, perhaps even scorned them, and Elzar hated when status or ideology barred potential.

Finally, Seth nodded. He stepped up to the cabinet, and after a moment he reached for the bottom row. Before his hand settled on a blade, he shot a look of alarm back at Valdaris, eyes wide with confusion and shock. If the Cereman said anything, no one else heard it. But when Seddram turned back to the cabinet, he raised his hand to one of the black and amber hilts and pulled the blade free from the stand, then selected a black scabbard and sheathed his new sword.

He stepped away, nodding to the two soldiers and replacing his old korossa by his side while they resealed the cabinet.

“I’ve had time to think since yesterday, Commander,” said Seddram. “Our people do not part with korossas lightly. But your… new young friend… well, she may help us understand them. It will be years before she can wield one, but perhaps you could hold on to this for her, until the time is right.”

Elzar was stunned by the gesture, but he had no chance to respond.

“This is too much!” cried Melladar, racing for Seddram and placing herself between the three men. “I don’t know what’s happening here anymore! Korossas gifted out like trophies? A korossa returned to the Selvans? How can you of all people stand for this? After everything that’s happened!” She shot a look at Valdaris, her eyes tearing now, staring at the Cereman with something like confused rage before looking back to Seddram. “Why?! I invoke the right of challenge. You’ll keep your own damned korossa and stop throwing aside everything we were taught! Everything you taught me!”

“Agreed,” said Valdaris.

All eyes fixed on the Cereman.

“But you’ll fight me. The captain has carried a korossa for years, a right you cannot challenge, as I understand it. But I am happy to earn mine. I know I am an outsider, and your trust is something I must earn—”

“You’ll never—”

Valdaris ignored her, walking through the small crowd, out the armory doors, and across the hallway to an open courtyard. He stepped into the middle of the square space and drew his new sword, the teal blade ringing in the air.

Melladar followed, the rest of the crowd close behind.

“I know what you did,” she said to the Cereman as she threw her cloak aside and drew her korossa. A hint of blue flickered along the blade’s edge.

“No, you don’t.”

She clasped her korossa’s wooden hilt in both hands and lunged forward. Valdaris matched her attack with a quick stab followed by another, the korossa extending out from his right hand and clapping against the other blade with each twist of his wrist. He wielded the sword like a rapier, quick strikes from a distance preventing Melladar from closing in. His arm shot out again and again, a relentless volley of attacks that backed the Siivalan up to the courtyard’s edge.

Valdaris took a long stride in and turned his wrist so the blade pointed toward the sky. Melladar saw the opportunity and jumped forward, swinging the long korossa down in a powerful arc that sliced only air. The Cereman’s cloak rippled as he moved. He dodged one attack, then another, ducking and weaving with impossible speed and grace while Melladar lashed out with every technique she could muster. Valdaris only used his korossa to parry closer strikes as he stepped in, clearly missing chance after chance to end the duel.

Elzar caught movement from above and noticed Sevora, Rhyn, and Elaryn watching from an open hallway on the second level. Seddram stepped closer beside the commander and held out his old korossa between them. Elzar took it cautiously, opting to hold it behind his leg as the duel continued.

Melladar cried out in frustration, spinning in a wide sweep that finally made contact. Both duelists attacked with powerful strikes from above, their blades ringing overhead before Melladar attempted to slash her opponent’s side. He caught her blade in a lock, but she stepped in and took control of the motion. Their blades followed each other in a weaving flow, the opponents dancing around the tangled swords as they struggled for an advantage.

Elzar found himself dizzy from watching. Melladar and Valdaris were an even match now, their speed and precision astounding even to a seasoned veteran. Their duel was quickly outshining the Cereman’s earlier fight with Sevora.

Melladar pulled her blade free and attempted a powerful slash that would have felled a lesser duelist. The sword cut through empty air, Valdaris shifting to the side and ducking under a horizontal slash that followed. He stepped in, placing his free hand on Melladar’s stomach, and pushed with enough force to send the Siivalan crashing into a pillar at the courtyard’s edge.

She stumbled to her knees, prone and defeated. Melladar looked up at her opponent, face red from exertion and shame, and she screamed out a wail of agony. Her korossa, now lying flat across her thighs, erupted in a wave of blue energy. A flash of white-blue light made Elzar cover his eyes. Tendrils of blue energy like stretched flames from a candle reached out in a hundred directions, enveloping the whole courtyard in a sphere of blue fire that swirled around the bystanders.

Elzar reached out his arm and watched a strand of flame wrap around his hand and forearm. Both felt instantly numb and fell to his side. Another strand reached for his chest. When it hit, he dropped to his knees. His whole body felt limp and relaxed, his lungs drawing in deep, soothing breaths of the crisp air. But inside his chest he felt a thousand claws trying to dig out through his flesh. He couldn’t cry out in pain, couldn’t lift his arms, and the warring sensations of pain and peace dizzied his mind.

The Cereman took a step toward Melladar and reached out with his sword. When the korossas touched, the flames and energy blinked out.

Chapter 26
Slaughter at Heldriss

Elzar tried to breathe, his throat constricting in tight gasps as he stood. He felt weak, strained by the receding pain in his chest.

“What’s happening to me?” said Melladar.

The commander stumbled to her without a thought and offered his hand. She took it and rose slowly to her feet. Both looked to Valdaris, but he sheathed his taldrine korossa without a word.

Before they could say anything, Sevora came running into the courtyard and rushed to Melladar’s side, pushing past Elzar with a glare.

“How in scheth did you do that?” she asked her sister.

Rhyn had arrived just behind her and gasped. “That’s a bad word you know. I said a bad word once and the kitchen caught fire, but that’s okay because the juicy steaks were still cooking. Alden the merchant said he likes his meat with a pulse but he’d make an exception, but I didn’t get it. How can meat have a pulse?”

Elaryn put a calming hand on Rhyn’s shoulder from behind, but her eyes and open jaw bore the same bewildered awe as everyone else in the crowd.

“A Siivalan…” she said.

“Okay, Vald, you have to spill it,” said Datha, emerging from the crowd with Marrin at his side. “Fancy blue magic is all well and good — good show there, Mella, by the way — but how does a Cereman learn to wield a sword like that?”

Valdaris answered with a smile. Elzar thought the musketeer’s humor felt forced, like families at a funeral burying sorrow with bad jokes. And no one believed he wasn’t just as stupefied by the korossa’s magic as the rest of them.

“What brings you?” asked Seddram. “I hoped to call on you both later, as it happens, but I didn’t mean to disrupt your leave.”

“I can only stay cooped up for so long, captain,” said Datha. “Especially after a dragon attack. Found Marrin this morning and we figured we’d find you here. We were all the way in the dining hall when we heard swords. Nice scar by the way — what, did you take a go at it yourself first before Vald had to step in?”

“I’m fine,” said the captain. The remark seemed to make him self-conscious and his eyes strayed over the crowd.

Valdaris opened his mouth to speak, then looked up and around in alarm. The azurial hilt at his side began to glow, a sickly mix of blue, orange, and red that made Elzar feel queasy as he looked.

“Everyone, get your weapons, now!” yelled the Cereman.

No one moved.

Valdaris shot a look of panic at Seddram, the first time Elzar thought he’d seen the Cereman show fear.

“Arm yourselves!”

Seddram gripped the hilt of his new korossa while reaching out to Elzar with the other. The commander looked at his empty hands in alarm, unaware he’d dropped the korossa, then took the weapon while the crowd of soldiers rushed across the hallway into the armory, grateful Seddram’s gift hadn’t caused a scene.

“What’s wrong?” asked Rhyn. “Oh, is it another dragon? You’ll protect us, won’t you?”

“Not quite, sweetheart,” said Valdaris. He knelt to look the child in the eyes. “Today, I need your help.”

“What can—”

Her question cut off as the sunlight streaming down from above turned grey. All color in the courtyard seemed to fade as a thick shadow crawled down the walls and enveloped them. Elzar felt the clawing pain in his chest return with a desperate fury, cutting off his breath. Elaryn and Mekkos fell to their hands and knees, coughing in pain. The Siivalans stumbled and leaned into each other in a collective daze. Even Valdaris held a hand to his forehead.

“No! No! No! No!” Rhyn was crying out in agony, a mixed look of fear and frustration filling her strained eyes as she stomped her foot on the stone floor.

Valdaris reached out and put a hand on her arm.

“Kartumol,” he whispered.

Rhyn’s eyes went wide. She stumbled back, then lifted her head and cried into the darkness.

“Cha’vienne!”

Elzar lurched forward, a wave of nausea churning his gut. He looked around in horror. The shadow was gone, replaced by a scene of slaughter and devastation. The whole group from the courtyard and more than a dozen Siivalan soldiers were now scattered in the streets of a small village. Bodies were everywhere. Men, women, and children lay dead and bloodied in piles of torn flesh. Elzar felt something seeping into his pants at the knees and looked down to see he was kneeling in a pool of blood. A woman beside him stared up into space with a fixed look of torment, her insides spilling from a fierce gash across her stomach.

Melladar took one look at the woman and vomited. Sevora crawled away from her in a rush, fleeing the carnage as much as her sister’s emptied stomach. Rhyn cried and ran into Elaryn’s arms, the Deldraean looking over the girl’s shoulder and catching Elzar’s eye with an expression of worry. Mekkos rose to his feet and pulled the metal rod from his belt, holding it out as a thin black blade appeared in a flash of blue and red sparks. He studied their surroundings until his gaze fixed on something behind Elzar, and the Naemreddan lowered into a fighting stance, sword pointing ahead.

Elzar pushed himself up, attempting to wipe the blood off his knees with his free hand before turning around. Beyond a few dozen homes, most with caved walls and black smoke spewing from broken windows, two grey-brown mountains rose into the clouds. Between them stood Kartumol Fortress. Its base was obscured by trees and rocky hills past the village, but row after row of stained grey walls and towers climbed up the mountainsides.

“This is Heldriss,” said Seddram. “How is this possible? What could have done this?”

“The same creatures that attacked us on the way to Mindan,” said Valdaris beside him.

A chorus of savage shrieks rose from the other end of the village. More screams echoed from woods in the distance, a thick canopy of red and orange leaves rustling as thousands of birds took flight.

“That’s the edge of the heartwoods,” said Seddram.

“These monsters will overrun your home if they’re allowed to survive,” said the Cereman. “But we’re the ones in danger now. Run!”

Valdaris ran toward the fortress, his navy cloak gliding in the wind behind him. The monstrous screams were getting louder, and after a moment of dumb stillness the whole company rushed after him.

Elzar helped Melladar to her feet and almost fell forward as she leaned to pick up her fallen korossa. As her fingers closed around the hilt, he felt a surge of warmth through her hand, a pulse of light and life that filled his chest. The korossa in his other hand blasted his veins with a wave of cold that met the heat at his center in a dizzying crash of sensations. His vision warped into a view of Heldriss from above. Hundreds of figures charged out of the woods toward the village, some clad in brown cloaks and others naked as jaybirds, their blue and purple skin constricted around limbs that tore up the earth as they ran.

“Come on!” screamed Sevora.

Elzar and Melladar locked eyes, both baffled and terrified, and scrambled after the others. He never let go of her hand, though soon Melladar pulled ahead with speed and strength he couldn’t account for.

The company skipped over fallen bodies and debris until they cleared the village. They dashed along a winding path between the rocks and hills before the road opened to a massive wall with three large gates. Valdaris led the group through the central gate into an enormous arched tunnel. Some Siivalans turned to try closing the gate.

“No point!” yelled Elzar. “They’ll use the other gates! We need to get higher up!”

Wide stairs appeared ahead on either side of the tunnel. The company turned left and made their way up to a square chamber with broken furniture and dust scattered in the dim light from a far window. Narrow stairways rose from each of the room’s corners and spiraling stairs interrupted both walls farther in.

“Split up!” yelled Valdaris. “Get as high as you can!”

Elzar and Melladar followed Elaryn and Rhyn up one of the spiral stairways. Elzar thought for a moment between heaving breaths that they needed to take a stand as a group. As he climbed higher, the three ahead shuffling in single file, he decided having the whole company try to squeeze through a single stairway would have let the horde of monsters catch them in the chamber.

They wouldn’t have stood a chance.

Chapter 27
Kartumol Fortress

“We’re going to be okay, Rhyn.”

Elaryn stooped down and swept the child in her arms, fumbling through the fabric of her dress for a grip. She charged ahead, leading the others down a long corridor that split around the base of a tower.

The map in her head told her to keep right. A prickling sensation scratched at her mind, commanding her to turn back, but she shook it away and fixed her eyes ahead. She had to keep Rhyn safe. The mission would have to wait.

As they came around the tower’s side, Elaryn took in a deep breath of fresh mountain air. A wide passage connected this tower to another on the opposite side of the fortress. Huge open archways lined one side of the passage, leading to a terrace covered in snow. A few dead trees stuck out above the snowbanks, and specks of red dotted the scattered heaps of white. As Elaryn slowed to look, she caught the shape of a pale hand sticking out of one bank, then made out a face staring in shock from between fallen branches.

She stepped back toward the tower so Rhyn wouldn’t see. No wonder the fortress was empty. Elzar motioned her away, stepping forward with three long strides and as little noise as possible. Elaryn saw why — a wooden door built into the tower was ajar just enough to make out swirls of blue and purple inside. Faint hissing sounds echoed from within, harsh and short. Elaryn’s breath caught and her heart pounded as she followed the Kanarian up the next stairway. Rhyn mumbled something incoherent and Elaryn stopped in panic until Melladar stumbled into them from behind.

They made it to the tower roof when the screams began. They couldn’t tell from where — some echoed from levels below, some from the structures climbing up the mountain to their right. A few gunshots sounded, then clangs of steel on stone, and the eerie silence returned.

“What do we do?” asked Melladar.

Elaryn lowered Rhyn and sat on a parapet at the tower edge. She was as scared as the rest, though she couldn’t let the child see it. She and Mekkos had rarely parted since her initiation. He’d been her mentor and friend long before that, the only person to make her feel sane after discovering her father’s true nature. She’d felt alone and adrift in an ocean of enemies until he offered her a way out. And now they were separated at the precise moment it mattered most.

“Rhynwhen,” said Elzar. “Do you know how to get us out of here?”

Rhyn looked up at her cousin with a blank expression, still mumbling under her breath.

“Here,” he said, kneeling and holding out the Siivalan captain’s korossa. “This will keep you safe.”

“Caref—” Elaryn’s voice cut off as Rhyn’s hand closed around the frayed hilt. Nothing happened. She wanted to slap the commander over the back of the head and almost did. Another burst from that sword could have set every creature in the fortress on them.

“Can we go now?” Rhyn seemed to come back to herself, looking around as though seeing the fortress for the first time. “Oh, look at that!”

She pointed over the wall toward Heldriss and the endless woods beyond. Elaryn almost stood up when the prickling in her head returned in earnest, then exploded in a burst of searing heat that made her clasp her scalp. The others stared in confusion.

She looked back over the tower edge in time to see a blur of blues and greens before an explosion shook the floor beneath them. She had to brace herself to stop from falling off the wall. Shrieking screams echoed up the stairway and the others tried to keep their balance as a massive fissure tore across the tower roof. Smoke and orange light rose from below.

“Run!” Melladar was closest and stepped past Elaryn onto a narrow walkway. Elzar and Rhyn came right behind her, just in time. The top half of the tower collapsed into the structure below, taking some of the walkway with it so Elaryn had to leap to stay with the others.

They ran across, using parapets on either side for balance until they reached a small square watchtower. Strong winds battered the lonely building, and once inside Melladar and Elzar braced against the far wall. Elaryn held Rhyn close but risked looking out through the doorway, dizzied from the height. Their new shelter was built on a narrow slab of rock protruding from the mountain so the building seemed to float above the fortress.

A mighty roar scattered dust and sand from the tower’s stone slabs above. Elaryn tripped back, pulling Rhyn down with her, as a dark blue and green dragon swept past the doorway from the right. It sped over the walkway, low enough for its thick tail to slap the wall as it passed. On the other side of the fallen tower it let out a deluge of liquid fire that sprayed over the opposite walkway and engulfed the base of another tower.

The dragon stretched its enormous, bat-like wings to pull up and glide between the towers and buildings along the other mountain. It released streams of fire with each pass, sometimes spitting out short bursts of liquid that burned brighter and exploded as they hit the fortress wall. The whole mountain looked ablaze, black smoke replacing the clouds around its peak.

Rhyn was first to get up, using the korossa for support and teetering as the curved end skidded off the stone floor. She stepped out the doorway before anyone could object and attempted to cross her arms despite the long weapon in her hand. The winds threw her hair over her face and pulled on her dress with such force that Elaryn worried she’d be swept over the cliff’s edge.

Elaryn risked joining her, watching in awe as the dragon went about its destructive work. Looking at Rhyn, she realized the child wasn’t watching the dragon. Her eyes were fixed on a spot lower down, where the walkway used to connect with the fallen tower.

“Are you mad?!” hissed Elzar from behind.

Elaryn looked over the edge beside the tower, then studied the broken walkway. Finally, she turned around and stepped back toward the watchtower, lowering her voice and feeling her brow crease with worry.

“How in scheth are we going to get down?”

Chapter 28
Assassin's Demise

Sevora wanted to follow her sister. She decided to tail Valdaris and her captain instead. This was all their fault.

She watched Marrin and Datha climb the far-right stairway in the central chamber along with three or four other Siivalans. The other soldiers took the spiral stairs opposite where she’d seen Mella go up with the Selvan commander. She’d have to deal with those two when this was over.

Valdaris charged up the far-left stairs and Seth followed like the puppet he was. She almost hated him more now than when she thought he killed Dain. She didn’t care how he’d survived. They’d both get what they had coming.

She waited a few seconds before following, long enough to glimpse dozens of moving shadows climbing the wide stairway from the tunnel below. She took a deep breath and held it to still her heart, then crept up the stairs and listened. Shrieks and clamoring from the creatures below drowned out any noise from the two men ahead, so she risked stepping out into a passage and watched Valdaris’s navy cloak ripple and twist around a corner.

She covered the distance with quick, long strides, keeping herself low and against the passage wall. A blue and purple creature, stark naked and hunched over, leapt into the passage and looked the other way while she turned the corner. More shrieks filled the passage behind her.

A short hallway ahead connected to a longer split corridor. Sevora turned left again, wondering just how deep into the fortress they were going, and froze at the sight of Valdaris motioning to the captain. They braced on either side of the hall at the next fork, and a second later gunshots and screams echoed from ahead. Valdaris charged toward the commotion.

Seth drew his new korossa and followed while Sevora kept a wary distance. She checked over her shoulder, but the noise from the creatures dwindled with each step forward.

Valdaris and Seth swept into a large, round chamber where Marrin and Datha were holding off at least ten creatures. Marrin looked like he’d taken a slash to the arm and Datha waved a hunting knife in one hand while stabbing out with his bladeless musket. The other four Siivalans lay dead on the floor, the creatures tripping over the bodies as they lunged at the survivors with axes and claws.

Sevora held back in the shadows. Valdaris and Seth pushed past the two musketeers and erupted into a violent dance, swords cleaving limbs and bodies as the creatures scattered. The captain was still far from a kossa master, but the two men made quick work of the attackers.

Seth began bandaging Marrin’s arm when the sounds of more battle from above echoed through stairs at the chamber’s far end. The four men traded quick looks and sped for the stairs, but only three climbed up. Valdaris, trailing behind the others, stopped as Datha turned a corner. The Cereman waited a moment, then stepped into another passage next to the stairs.

Sevora couldn’t believe her luck. Whatever his intentions, Valdaris had just given her the perfect opportunity to take her revenge. She’d disguise his death as another casualty of these savage creatures. She drew her korossa and followed the sound of Valdaris’s footsteps.

The passage curved before opening to what looked like an ancient dining hall. Long wooden tables with benches on either side filled the hall, with tarnished silver candlesticks set at intervals or scattered on the floor where some of the tables had cracked in half. An enormous chandelier of metal rings hung from thick chains above. Another lay in a pile of shattered wood and rock where the ceiling had caved in, leaving a large hole through which snow and sunshine trickled in.

Valdaris had already crossed the hall and passed under a large archway. As Sevora moved through the hall, rushing wind whistled through the gaping hole above, a faint but haunting screech that grew into a harsh wail as more snow whirled down. Beneath the wind’s call, Sevora swore she heard a roar. She paused to listen, exposed in the center of the hall.

Shadow eclipsed the light and she jumped with a start. Another roar blared with enough raw force to shake the ceiling and send more stone bricks crashing down from the hole. Something hissed to her right.

Sevora turned her head in horror. One of the creatures stood next to her, their shoulders mere inches apart. She acted on instinct, twisting out with her hips as her arm flew up, her korossa swiping the creature’s head clean off its body. The head rolled a few feet back, trailing purple blood in quick spurts before stopping under a bare foot.

Three more creatures were in the hall behind her. They looked around the chamber as though oblivious to her presence, sniffing the air like wolves catching a scent. She took a step back, and still they stared past her and began to fan out. The closest of the three kicked aside the fallen head and stepped over the body toward her. She stopped, held out her korossa, and stepped forward. Just when she was readying to strike, it saw her.

All three creatures shrieked, and a dozen vicious screams resounded through the previous passage, but they were too late. Sevora stabbed the first creature through the chest, ripped the blade free while spinning, and ducked while slashing the next creature across the middle. The third attacker hurled an axe past her ear, then swung with a clawed hand she promptly severed before slashing the beast across the throat.

She had no intention of confronting the rest. She ran toward the archway across the hall with as much stealth as her pace would allow. The new passage ended ahead in large wooden doors that hung ajar, and she almost smashed through one of the thick panels as she pulled herself into the next room and braced behind the door.

The new room was enormous. Two rows of stone pillars held up a sharp, triangular ceiling over a long, narrow chamber. Only a few cracks in the sloped stone roof let in any light. She slipped behind one of the pillars just before blue and purple bodies crashed down the doors. The monsters stumbled together deeper into the room, a loose horde that slowed as it advanced and looked around in confusion.

Sevora took a slow, deep breath, drawing herself in and finding her focus. She had to find Valdaris, and these beasts wouldn’t get in her way. She stepped through the shadows, keeping to the room’s right wing behind the pillars and following the creatures forward. After a few short advances, she ducked aside and braced against a pillar. One of the creatures had stepped into the narrow wing. In a desperate burst she shot out and stabbed the monster through the back, reaching out with one hand and crushing the beast’s lips into its sharp teeth, stifling an attempted scream without losing her fingers.

She knelt while lowering the body until she was sure it was dead. Her korossa slid free, and as she got up she noticed another creature had strayed from the group, straggling a few paces behind. She decided to take her chances. Keeping low, she took a few quick steps before swiping out and beheading yet another monster. She had crossed the remaining distance to the opposite pillars before the creatures heard the head rolling with crude thumps behind them.

Several monsters split from the group to investigate, only now noticing the first of their two fallen brethren. The rest huddled around the headless body in a mindless daze. She took the opportunity to advance with a long stride, pausing to still her heart before slipping forward again to the next pillar. With each step she grew bolder and moved faster, but the creatures fell behind, too dumb to follow or simply losing interest.

Eventually, the air began to thicken. A damp cloud of mist and the smell of stale mold closed in on Sevora as she drew deeper into the hall, doubtless now somewhere beneath the mountain itself. A faint orange light flickered in the distance, pulsing through the eerie mist. The ceiling spread out into a massive dome and the rows of pillars no longer stretched to the top, most broken and some toppled across the hall’s middle walkway.

Sevora stepped past the final pillar, a broken stone spike rising only a few feet from the ground. Deeper under the dome, she nearly tripped over dozens of bodies, all fresh kills that left purple blood so deep it seeped into her boots. Ahead, the flickers of orange light had been replaced by a blueish haze emanating from the huge room’s center.

She tried to quicken her pace but her boots made loud sploshing sounds with each step. They clapped on the floor even louder when she finally passed the bodies. She couldn’t see anything to either side. Her heart raced as she stood exposed in the darkness, and after a few short seconds she decided to remove her boots.

She pulled up her wool socks as high around her calves as they’d go and tested the stone floor with her toes, getting a feel for the terrain and the balance without footwear. Her boots, still dripping blood, she cast aside with contempt before regretting the action as they clattered off fallen debris.

After a short pause, she continued her blind pursuit. Her optimism returned with a thrilling wave of anticipation when she spotted the shape of Valdaris’s cloak ahead. He had stopped, and she was glad she slowed too when a sharp stone pressed up into her foot. She winced, but the skin was unbroken and she found better footing a few inches over. She clasped the hilt of her sword in both hands, drinking in the feeling of cold resolve as she forged her way after her target.

A second figure appeared in the haze. As she drew closer, Sevora recognized the strange Naemreddan, his dark skin, hair, and clothes a nebulous but discernible shape contrasted by the blue light ahead. He moved toward the light, and Valdaris followed.

It happened in an instant. Valdaris flicked his wrist, and that terrible sword with its stained blade grew out from his hand. Sevora caught a glimmer from the hilt’s ruby as Valdaris took two quick strides forward. He swept the blade to the side and slashed the Naemreddan above the hip, then stepped past his victim and cut the stunned man’s throat. The Naemreddan tried to lash out as his legs faltered, but Valdaris pivoted beyond his range.

Sevora froze in place, suddenly terrified of being seen. The sight of that weapon, still marked with Dain’s blood as it took another life, dizzied her mind with more emotions than she could name.

But the power she felt, like ripples in still water warning of a lurking beast below, made her feel smaller than she ever had before.

“Tell your master I’m coming for him next,” said the Cereman, looking down into the Naemreddan’s eyes as the light of life dimmed from within.

Chapter 29
Revelations

Valdaris turned around, walking toward the blue light with his sword out by his side. Suddenly, the orange light from before returned. The sword itself was glowing with a bright orange-and-yellow blaze from within. Tendrils of white-yellow flame reached out from either end of the sword’s crossguard and climbed up and down the blade, as though warming the sword like candles held under a mug.

“Zoh…va…kem…”

A rasping voice, loud but stretched like a dying whisper, boomed through the domed expanse above. Sevora saw the source up ahead. One of the creatures, clad in a tattered black robe, sat on an enormous throne of white rock. Blue light pulsed from the creature’s body but drew in and out like a tide as darkness pressed in on the throne.

The creature looked up. Its grey eyes glared over Valdaris’s shoulder, and Sevora knew she’d been spotted. She thought to duck aside before the Cereman saw her too. Before she could, the darkness shot out in a shockwave that threw Sevora off her feet. She fell hard on her back but pushed herself up and braced on one knee, her korossa held out against the invisible force. Valdaris stood in place, not even his rippling cloak appearing to have moved.

“You have come a long way to die,” said the creature, its voice scratching at Sevora’s ears.

“I will kill you, and every last trace of the draemeir, if it takes me an eternity,” said Valdaris, cold rage constricting his voice.

The creature raised its hand and another shockwave erupted from its body. It never reached Sevora. To her eyes, a sphere of crystal-clear water enveloped Valdaris, pushing out and catching the darkness. The force of the shockwave rippled against the watery sphere and bounced back, slamming the monster against its throne. The sphere kept expanding, washing over the throne and filling the entire room, but as it reached Sevora, the water parted around her. The clear substance spread and vibrated violently against an invisible barrier, as though trying to break through but unable to touch her.

“What… are you?” said the monster.

“I’m everything you were meant to be,” said Valdaris. He jumped forward with impossible speed, gliding through the air until the full length of his sword broke through the creature’s chest and the chair behind it. Valdaris twisted the blade and streaks of gold lightning shot out, first from behind the throne, then from the sword’s base sticking from the creature’s chest. Sevora held her hands to her ears as thunder boomed and lightning shattered the domed ceiling above, enormous rocks crashing to the floor around them.

The blue light vanished, leaving only the orange glow from Valdaris’s sword. The lightning stopped, and though rocks continued crashing down, the noise was faint, obscured clacks diminished by the barrier around them. Sevora looked up and saw outlines of cracked boulders floating in the air a few feet above both her and Valdaris.

“Did you think I didn’t see you following me?” he asked her. He turned, ripping his sword free from the creature’s body as he stepped down from the throne’s dais.

Sevora caught hints of a sinister smile in the pulsing orange light. She braced, sword out in the same stance he’d once used before their duel.

The Cereman held his sword loose by his side and reached into his cloak with his other hand. He pulled out what looked like a small silk pouch, hanging from his fingers by a looped drawstring. He let go, but the sack remained suspended between them. Seven gold orbs like large marbles shot into the air as the sack opened. One orb floated slowly toward her while the others gently orbited the pouch.

For perhaps the first time in her life, Sevora didn’t know what to do. She stood paralyzed as the gold orb touched her korossa. A jolt of energy shot up her arms, painful and jarring, but as it sped past her shoulders and up her neck, her vision blurred and her whole consciousness launched from her body.

She floated miles above the earth in a clear, blue sky. Even from so high up, music, drums, and cheering rose from a city below. She’d never seen such a marvel. Built between four towering mountains, the metropolis was beautiful beyond compare, every building shaped from sapphire-blue stone mixed with swirls of cream white like fine marble. Giant crystals somehow crafted into many-pointed stars floated above the city, refracting the sun’s light into an array of colors that danced on the structures below.

A sense of foreboding made Sevora turn. Behind her, an ominous black shadow crawled along the earth, speeding over hills and plains as it rushed for the city. Trees turned black and whole fields of wheat shriveled as it passed.

The shadow slammed into the city wall, spreading like a wave of black liquid that tainted the sapphire blue with sickly black ooze. There were no screams. The music and cheering simply dwindled, then cut off altogether. The crystal stars crashed down from above, collapsing towers and buildings as they fell. The rainbows of light from the crystal shards turned a dark purple as the darkness rushed in.

Sevora woke up, still braced for combat. The gold orb floated back toward Valdaris and joined the others in the shape of an arch.

“I know you want to see me dead,” said Valdaris. “And maybe someday you will. But for now, if you want answers and to ever escape this place alive, you’ll follow me.”

He stepped forward, and the air between the floating orbs shimmered and vibrated, obscuring her view of the Cereman like a thin waterfall. She lifted her blade as he came closer, but he disappeared.

Sevora screamed into the darkness. Nothing made sense, her prey was gone, and everything she knew about her world was wrong. Her knees buckled. The strength and power that defined her were nothing compared to what she’d witnessed here.

She drew herself up with a deep breath. She’d have answers, and then she’d reclaim her place in this world. With that thought, she stepped forward and touched her sword to the shimmering archway.

A whirlpool of energy sucked her in and in a flash she was breathing crisp, cold air. Valdaris stood ahead to her right, looking over the edge of a mountain plateau. The mountain sloped down for miles before reaching a snow-covered plain that stretched out before them. Far in the distance, Kartumol Fortress burned, black smoke climbing up the left mountainside.

She stared at the walls of mountains on either side of the fortress, then looked around at the endless landscape of snow, rock, and evergreen forest. Mountains taller than any she’d seen blocked her view past the forests to the west. The sun would pass beyond their peaks in an hour or two, already painting the sky pink and orange above.

“We’re in Kartuma,” said Sevora.

“To think our ancestors built that fortress to protect themselves from this place,” said Valdaris. “And in the end, they only built a home for their enemy.”

He seemed lost in thought, but Sevora assumed he had more to say.

“What I didn’t understand the first time was how will can linger, how a desire pressed on this world can fester into an unthinking force of malice. The shadow you saw in your vision… that was a vestige, a small trace left behind by the creatures we just killed. It roamed beneath the earth where I couldn’t see it, sleeping and growing for centuries until I gave it a target. I created a place of light and life, and an enemy I never knew took it all away in a heartbeat. That city, Azurial, was the only place I’ve ever called home.”

“What in scheth are you talking about?” said Sevora. “You’re saying that was real? Why has no one heard of it? You’re talking like you’re centuries old. You’re a damned Cereman! You have no history! You’re a group of self-defining radicals who broke away from an empire that welcomed you while my people have been enslaved for centuries!”

“It hasn’t happened yet,” said Valdaris. He paused to let his meaning sink in. “I built Azurial a long time from now, in a future that can never happen.

“You want to know why I killed Dain? In the place I come from, he rose to become the worst tyrant Naevoroth had ever seen, second only to his master. Your Cereman lover was doomed to become a monster the moment he joined the Athamein Order. You must have seen it! The moods, the twisted expressions… the way he screamed in agony after I cleansed the Varessi springs. Yes, I did that. Dain Baerd was corrupt down to the last cell in his body, and he’d only begun to understand his power.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Sevora. But she did. She knew. And she hated Valdaris for telling her.

“What’s your excuse for the Naemreddan?” she asked.

“He and the Deldraean heiress think they fight the same enemy I do,” said Valdaris. “But they serve a man as corrupted as Dain, and they’re infected with the same evil.”

“Deldraean? Who?” said Sevora with a start. “The other Selvan?”

“Elaryn, daughter of Morraedd Deldraea,” he answered. “The commander comes from the Kanaris house, and the child Rhynwhen is his cousin, rightful heir to their family’s lordship. And if you harm any one of them, I swear I will destroy you.”

She met his gaze with a determined glare but said nothing. She shook her head, amazed at the strangeness of it all.

“Anything else?” he asked.

Something he’d said to the creature just before killing it came back to her. A word she’d heard Dain use while speaking to the monks at the springs on the day he died.

And something about a strain.

“What are the draemeir?”

Part II
Seas of the Zovah

Chapter 30
Podarrek Vistandel

Podarrek watched the old man with veiled suspicion. The hooded figure sipped ale from a tall glass, letting drops of foam trickle down his chin. His fingers played across the table in a small figure eight while the thick sleeve of his robe caught the spilled liquid. 

There. 

The air around the man’s index finger shimmered and rippled, just for a moment. Across the room, glass shattered against a wall.

Javareth threw the first punch. Clodess, a shy newcomer with a poet’s gentle eyes, ducked before grabbing his opponent across the waist and slamming him on the stage with enough force to crack wood and bone. 

Anyone less familiar with the Order might have missed the connection, or assumed the young men were drunk on ale.

Will-bending. The subtlest shift in intention could ripple across whole nations with consequence. Podarrek had seen it before, and his hands were far from clean. He’d used the power many times, playing master with others’ lives while never seeing the puppet strings dangling from his own head.

The other students broke up the fight and everyone returned to the long wooden table. There would be no more testimonies today, no more speeches.

And in a passing thought that slipped away as soon as it came, Podarrek wondered why no one cared about the dead body. Come to think of it, Javareth was just resting… face down… in a pool of blood. Best to leave him be. More than a month would pass before Podarrek regained memory of the fight and mourned his friend, rage and confusion racing through his veins as he wondered who in the Order could have been powerful enough to bend his memory.

Marrgolen said she met the old man by chance on her way to the tavern. After hearing his stories, she’d insisted on inviting him. But Podarrek was sure their meeting had been anything but chance. And he resented her gullibility — this was supposed to be their one safe place where the Order of Athamein couldn’t touch them. 

The rest of the group seemed just as smitten with the old man. They hung on his every word, and the man could talk. Every story took anywhere from ten minutes to a full hour so the night was drawing late and the barkeep came down to announce they’d have to leave soon. 

Podarrek had to give the old man credit. He could feign empathy and wisdom like no one the Daruman ever met. He claimed to have left the Order two decades ago, returning in recent years, just on occasion, to partake in the traditions, history, culture, and community that no other assembly in the empire could offer. The others seemed oblivious to the condescension dripping from each word, or the calculating cruelty Podarrek saw beneath those intense brown-black eyes. 

The frail figure before them wasn’t there to listen. He was there to recruit. 

Addelar, the group’s founder, tried to engage the man and steer the conversation back toward their usual topics. He failed each time. Every attempt to play arbiter, normally Addelar’s forte, was met with a perfect answer about the beauty and rich experience the Order could offer. And everyone present remembered those feelings, knew the pain of their loss. They hungered for the experiences they’d left behind like soekess addicts craving their next hit.

Every time someone tried to share a story of horrors they’d seen, the old man latched onto the speaker with probing questions until he could dismiss their account. He made each speaker feel responsible for the corruption and manipulation they’d experienced, as though they’d somehow done these things to themselves. To him, these disgruntled students were just too immature to understand the Order’s higher purpose. 

Everyone present left with a bizarre guilt eating away at their stomachs. Their testimonies were little more than self-indulgent expressions of bitterness. Their decisions to leave the Order were juvenile tantrums in need of parental discipline. And at least a few in the group seemed to actually consider going back.

The group never met again. Podarrek decided to return to Darumae and convinced Marrgolen to join him. They left just in time. 

A month later, the imperial capital fell amidst riots led by none other than Addelar, now head of the Order’s military wing. 

Already flooded with refugees from the invasion of Ceremai, the empire slipped into chaos for months. Eventually, Podarrek’s father received news from an ambassador that a new emperor had been appointed. He mumbled something about unheard-of upstarts playing politics without merit, but Podarrek knew the new emperor’s name well. 

He remembered the last words spoken by the frail old man in that dark tavern basement.

“I believe there’d be a place in the Order for anyone here who chooses to give them another chance. You can even give them my name. Go to the sepulcher on Bardden Street and knock on the first door you see — they know me there.

“Tell them Bendan Tarvor sent you.”

Chapter 31
Escape from Kartumol

Melladar Embraya never felt so cold.

The blizzard began a few hours into being trapped above the fortress. Harsh winds pulled a wall of dark clouds overhead, at first beautiful in the waning sunlight until the snow started to fall. Damp flurries dissolved on the rock face of the watchtower and covered the nearby walkway in cold droplets, freezing into a layer of clear ice as night fell over Kartumol. 

Mella could feel the cold seeping into her bones. Elzar found some kindling and logs, climbing down narrow stairs along the back wall with a stack of wood in one arm and the other braced against the wall for support. He looked tense, as though his shoulders were shying away from the bright steel armor he wore over his maroon coat. At least the severe Selvan woman had the child to huddle with for warmth. Elzar tried to look strong and confident for Rhynwhen’s sake, but Mella could tell he was scared too. 

He set the wood down in the middle of the room, then continued pacing in the small space between the logs and the doorway. They hadn’t decided whether to start a fire. Every few seconds, a roar echoed through the darkness.

They’d all seen the dragon fly past before it attacked the fortress. A haze of orange light still rose from below, the only hint of a world outside the tower still visible through the storm. But as the snow grew thicker, a blinding windstorm of swirling white imprisoned them in their lonely refuge, and they heard another roar from above. And another. 

The roars grew louder and overlapped in a chorus of rage and chaos. The first dragon had missed them, maybe even ignored them for a greater prize. But against a whole swarm of dragons they had little hope of remaining hidden, and no hope at all of seeing another day. 

Mella made her way to the wall under the stairway and sat next to Rhynwhen. The girl leaned into Elaryn with her knees held up to her chest, pulling her stained blue dress as tight against her skin as she could. She looked back and forth with wide eyes full of terror, listening to some unheard menace beyond the roars of dragons.

Seeing the child here with them pulled on Mella’s lungs with despair. She took deep, forced breaths, trying to stave off panic and the returning sensation of something coming loose inside her, dislodged and out of place. She pulled off her brown cloak, better suited to stopping rain than snow, and wrapped it around the child before rubbing her own arms through the thin green fabric of her tunic. 

The Selvan commander finally stopped pacing and came to join her. His head barely fit under the stairs, forcing him to edge closer to Mella as he sat down. She stifled a flinch as his shoulder guard touched her upper arm, cold enough to send a sharp jolt through her sleeve. Even in his agitated state, he had a steadiness about him that made her feel a little stronger, a little more resolved. His armor touched her again and she jumped up. 

She didn’t look back. But as she took her turn pacing she worried she might have offended the man. She stepped to the open doorway and looked out into the snowstorm. The wind seemed calmer now, and the heavy snow floated down in hypnotic swirls. Her mind drifted into a calming trance as she looked, jarred back every few seconds by the roaring beasts outside. She could see their outlines now, soaring and swooping between the fortress towers like monstrous vultures over a dying animal.

She wondered how long they had before the dragons turned their attention on the watchtower. It was only a matter of time.

A beam of blue light tore through the sky. It was gone in a flash, leaving a purple afterimage across Mella’s vision. Another beam struck the shape of a dragon soaring past and ripped through it like a cannonball, the creature’s mangled body toppling into the ruins below. Two more beams shot out, slashing through the air from the direction of Heldriss, the slaughtered village that once sat between the fortress rear and the Siivalan heartwoods to the east. 

The dragon swarm erupted into a frenzy of fire and deafening roars. Mella watched three of the vicious reptiles swoop over the broken walkway and dive for the village. Then something shot past in the opposite direction. It looked like a body.

Another figure shot past, dark grey armor and a long, black sword outlined in the orange haze as it flew over the ruins with impossible speed. A dragon swept over the mountain pass and the flying figure reached up with its free arm. The air between the dragon and the figure’s open hand rippled with energy, a straight line of furrowing space that pulled the figure up like a lasso. The dragon tried to pivot and shake loose, but in seconds the figure was swept up by the invisible string between their bodies and slashed through the dragon with its sword. The rippling link disappeared and the figure plummeted beyond Mella’s view. The dragon’s bat-like wings fumbled through the air as blood, strength, and liquid fire seeped from its body.

Mella tried to make sense of what she’d seen, but no answers came. The dying creature swooped toward the mountain overhead and exploded against the rock and snow in an orange inferno. A tremor rumbled through the tower, and Mella stepped back from the doorway. She breathed out as the rumbling continued, still baffled, and watched a soft grey cloud of vapor rise from her mouth while the walls shook in the background. 

The tower dropped beneath her and Mella was thrown against the wall to her right. Her shoulder cracked. A cascade of solid white crashed past the doorway. The whole tower lurched, and the others came rolling down into the space next to her. Rhynwhen started to scream when the entire structure fell forward, tilting on its side as the protruding rock beneath gave out under the force of the avalanche. 

“Hold on!” said Elaryn, gripping the child around the waist while bracing against what used to be the tower ceiling. 

They fell down the mountainside in a disoriented rush, waves of snow blocking the doorway and no holes or windows to tell them when the inevitable crash was coming. When it did, the tower’s second level imploded from the shock, slamming the ceiling and throwing them back. Mella’s cracked shoulder erupted in pain as one of the logs Elzar had found rolled into her from the side. But as the dust settled, she was amazed to see the others were alive and unharmed. 

“I’ll never ride a sled again,” said Elaryn. 

The Selvan sat with her knees up and eyes wide, looking as amazed and grateful to be alive as the rest. She caught Mella’s eyes, and without warning Mella broke out laughing. She couldn’t help it. 

Elaryn joined in, shaking her head while Rhynwhen and Elzar stared in confusion. 

They both paused to catch their breath. Mella sighed and immediately regretted it. She flinched from pain in her upper arm, the same arm as her scar and nerve damage. Though now that she thought about it, the scar hadn’t bothered her much since her fall in the Deldran River. 

A strange pressure appeared behind her eyes, not painful but enough to grab her attention. It felt like a warning. Elaryn hunched forward and squinted at the same time, as though she were pushing back against the same feeling.

Mella caught movement to her left and realized the doorway was no longer blocked. 

“I think we should go,” she said. Elaryn nodded and grabbed Rhynwhen’s sheathed korossa from a pile of logs and shattered rock. Elzar caught Mella staring as Elaryn handed it to the child and led her to the doorway. 

“You still don’t approve,” Elzar said as he passed. 

“No, I…” She cut herself off. She didn’t know how she felt anymore, about anything. “I just… can’t keep up. Nothing makes sense anymore.”

Elzar said nothing, either lost in his thoughts or trying to understand. He turned and she followed him through the doorway, now angled and upside down, and stepped out onto bare rock. 

Rhynwhen and Elaryn leaned against a nearby tree as they tried to work their way down. Rhynwhen nearly tripped over Mella’s cloak with each step. The air was warmer here, but Mella still shivered and half regretted giving up her cloak. But they were almost all the way down the mountain, stuck between jagged rocks with a few leafless trees sticking up between cracks. Most of the descending snow had stopped farther up, though a few splintered trunks showed where falling ice and rock had smashed through. 

Mella followed the others down, keeping a wary eye on the sky between steps, but the roars were gone and the dense stormclouds were passing west over the mountaintops. A warm breeze passed over the hills, and even for a full moon, the night was particularly bright. Silvery white light reflected off the mountain to guide their way. She saw no dragons in the clearing skies. And minutes later, they stood on tangled grass that stretched over the small hills between the mountain and the village of Heldriss. It was hard to believe they’d fallen so far in so little time. 

The path ahead flattened into a small valley of dead yellow grass. Torn carcasses of fallen dragons were heaped against a hill on the valley’s edge, liquid fire from their guts spilling over and slowly burning the remains, outlining fierce claws and horns in sickly black smoke. Mella couldn’t fathom how just two warriors felled so many monsters, and intuition told her to stay alert. The four survivors kept wide of the bodies but followed the orange glow to make their way through the field. 

Mella hoped the others were alive. Elaryn seemed to be leading them back to Heldriss and the heartwoods beyond. If Sevora got out, she’d be there. If not, Mella would do whatever it took to bring back an army of Siivalans and crush those vile creatures from the fortress. But they had to escape this place first. 

They were about halfway across the field when Mella saw the haze. A mirage of rippling heat moved across the field from the west. Even from this distance, Mella could have sworn she saw the grass pressing down like footprints below three bubbles of heat. And as she took a step toward the mirage, the footprints stopped.

She saw it all in a flash, like a dream beyond time. A line of invisible energy appeared between Elaryn and one of the bubbles of heat. The energy pulled her off her feet and hurled the Selvan across the field like she was nothing. 

What happened next tore a scream from Mella’s chest. Three figures in dark silver armor stepped out from the rippling heat. Two held black rods that grew into fierce blades as Mella watched. The third figure raised what looked like a steel musket, aimed at the child, and fired.

Purple and blue energy split the air with a sound like struck bells, the glare from the beam so intense as to hide the horror it inflicted from Mella’s sight.

The vision collapsed and cut Mella’s scream short. Her foot touched grass as she stepped toward the haze, Elaryn, Rhynwhen, and Elzar still walking to her right. The line of clear energy reappeared between Elaryn and the haze, and Mella knew what she had to do. Elaryn flailed her arms as she flew into the air, but Mella’s eyes were fixed on the child. 

She jumped forward just as a streak of blue light erupted from the figure’s weapon.

Chapter 32
Foiled Attack

Mella was back in Mindan. Tan yellow cobblestone stretched across the round courtyard guarding her family’s manor. She was walking beside her sister and mother, stopping at the sight of two groups approaching from opposite ends of the courtyard. Her breath cut short. Seddram Peltan, her captain, was alive.

The man she had wanted to suffer right until her sister tried to kill him. And Mella let it happen. She had never agreed to be part of that — cold murder without process wasn’t justice.

Then she saw the ring, that terrible ruby ring fixed between three coiling snakes, held up for all to see on the hand of Valdaris Drascar. She saw the rage in his eyes and felt something break inside. She knew now. She’d helped kill, or almost kill, an innocent man. The scar on Seth’s neck was haunting. He’d bear it for the rest of his life, just like she bore hers.

The real traitor wore the murder weapon in the open, knowing full well no one would believe her, Sevora, or Breddel’s account of rings transforming into swords. Despite being a murderer himself, the Cereman captain radiated contempt, as though more offended by their injustice than killing one of his own people. 

The ring in this living memory glowed until streaks of bright red and scarlet eclipsed her vision. She came to, landing on dead grass with a hard thud that shot a jolt of pain through her shoulder. Tendrils of black smoke rose from her leather vest. But somehow, she was alive. 

She noticed two things at once: the armored figures weren’t moving, and in the air surrounding them small droplets of dew floated like still rain in spiraling clusters. She looked up, half expecting to see fresh stormclouds, but the skies were clear. She turned back to the ominous figures and felt a primal rage well up inside her.

As she watched, a single droplet near the figure with the metal gun grew tenfold in an instant and just as quickly vanished. Another touched one of the warriors' black swords and disappeared in an identical explosive burst. More droplets appeared while others burst out. The whole field seemed to vibrate with the force of this watery display. 

The protective anger inside her exploded from her chest in a wave of heat, and Mella’s awareness jerked free from her body. In a flash she was no longer looking out from her eyes — her vision was suspended in an orb of rippling water. One of the armored warriors was below her, the warrior with the gun stood a few paces away with its back turned, and across a small expanse of dead grass she saw herself sprawled out in front of the child. Elzar stood to their left with his hand gripped tight around the hilt of his sword. 

The watery sphere collapsed and her awareness flew into another droplet, two paces behind the fiend who’d tried to kill Rhynwhen and almost killed her. The thought of that cruel malice fixed Mella’s consciousness in place. The droplets stopped expanding. She pushed forward with her mind, and her feet touched solid ground.

She’d moved in an instant. She was actually there, standing behind the armored figure. Time began to flow again, slow at first but with enough speed to send a warning through Mella’s gut. That gun was still pointed at the child.

She reached for her korossa, feeling the familiar rush of soothing, cool energy flow up her arm as she grabbed the hilt. The tension in her shoulder relaxed and the pain vanished. Her sword drew out from its scabbard with surprising speed, as though she alone remained free from time’s full weight. She drew the long blade up above her head, then gripped the curved hilt in both hands and slashed down across the figure’s back with all her strength. 

Sparks skipped off the silver armor and a strange, crystal-like energy of flowing blues and greens crackled around the figure’s body. Time resumed for a moment as the warrior tripped forward. All three figures turned her way. 

She couldn’t give them a chance to respond, and her awareness burst out in a growing sphere as though anticipating the threat. Droplets around the armored figures flew toward her and crashed into the expanding orb, each impact dizzying her mind with a rush of vertigo. Sensations and images flooded her consciousness as the sphere enveloped her attackers. Her body remained still, but inside her mind she was riding ocean waves in a storm, lurching from side to side, all thought banished by the primal need to survive. 

The warm glow from before climbed up her spine and flowed through her arms. Soft threads of energy brushed against her awareness. The threads filled her with a deep calm, her sense of control and primal fury relenting as she drifted deeper into a dream.

As she basked in the experience, a blast of scarlet light shot out along the length of her sword. All three figures raised their arms to shield themselves, the same blue-green energy rippling and cracking across their skin-tight armor. Each warrior thrashed about to no avail as the strange barriers gave out.

The middle figure raised the metal gun but shot wide of Mella. She was barely aware of the blast streaking by her hip as a spinning crescent knife skipped off the weapon’s barrel.

The glowing heat inside her erupted into a blaze that threatened to overwhelm her senses. Tendrils of red and golden fire stretched out from her korossa in magnificent swirls, filling the sphere around her with dancing light before three tendrils surged down in brilliant streaks and struck each figure in the chest. They collapsed to the ground and the flames vanished.

It took a moment for Mella to regain her senses, and she nearly stumbled backward.

“That was incredible,” said Elaryn. She walked over and retrieved her crescent knife a few feet to Mella’s right. 

“Are you alright?” asked Mella. “I should be thanking you for saving my life.”

Elaryn looked torn between respect and astonishment. “I think you’d have managed.” 

Rhynwhen ran into Mella’s legs with a hug that almost knocked her over. The girl was trembling. She seemed even more terrified now than when they were trapped up a mountain with a swarm of dragons and deathly cold threatening to end their lives.

“Thank you, Miss Mella,” she said. Her voice shook with terror, and Elzar came up behind her to put a hand on Rhynwhen’s shoulder. 

"How are you even alive?" he asked. 

"I have no idea." 

Mella wasn't sure she liked the way Elzar was looking at her. It reminded her of Seth, always studying others like they were puzzles to solve instead of just people.

"We should go," said Elaryn. "But first…"

She walked past Mella to the body behind her and nudged the sword free from the figure’s hand with her boot. She squatted down over the thin blade and reached for the hilt. Her fingers barely grazed the onyx cylinder's surface when the blade vanished, retracting into the hilt in a flurry of blue and red sparks.

"Impossible."

She held up the metal rod and gripped it with both hands. Her brow furrowed, and the sword shot back out. She looked down at the ornate black and silver rod hanging from her belt, then studied the sword in her hands. She seemed troubled.

Whatever had her worried, her attention left the sword in an instant when the body at her feet twitched. Mella braced and angled her korossa down at the second figure before Elaryn pressed her new sword to the first figure’s neck. Mella’s heart raced, temporary calm replaced by razor-sharp focus. Her eyes darted toward the metal gun and she jumped over to kick it away. It skidded over dead grass before settling at Rhynwhen’s feet. 

"I don't think they're conscious," said Elzar. "But they're alive, whoever they are." He knelt next to the third figure, holding down an armored wrist while he pried free the warrior’s still-extended sword.

"We should take them with us," said Elaryn. "There may be more out there. We don't want them waking and coming after us with friends."

"Let’s just get to the trees for now," said Mella. "We're too exposed out here. But you're right. We'll get them out of sight at least and decide what to do from there." 

The others nodded while Rhynwhen watched the adults with a blank stare. Elzar stepped over to Elaryn and held out the open blade, cocking his head in question as the weapon retracted when she took it. She strapped both new rods to her belt with thin leather bands meant for her hair, letting Elzar’s silent question go unanswered. 

Mella decided leaving a powerful weapon at the feet of a child might not have been her wisest impulse. She stepped over and knelt by Rhynwhen. The Selvan girl blinked and met Mella’s gaze, but there was an emptiness behind her eyes that gave Mella pause. 

No child should have to witness what they all saw at Heldriss. 

Mella reached out for the metal gun and a familiar rush of cold energy shot up her arm. It was like holding her korossa, only this magic was a hundred times more potent. Time stopped once more, and she felt the energy surge through her body in sharp detail. Cold electricity pulsed along the scar tissue in her forearm, feeling trapped inside her damaged nerves before it raced up her shoulder and drew a strangled breath from her lungs. 

She slumped forward as the energy reached her head. The dizziness was overwhelming, intoxicating, and her mind struggled to process the barrage of sensations. The world around her fell out of focus. Everything in her vision blurred except the long metal weapon in her hand. The shining steel came alive with tiny lines of golden light that raced down the length of the barrel, intersecting and cutting paths up and down the gun like fireflies stuck in a jar. Her awareness felt sucked into the motion, and the universe came alive in her mind.

A thousand voices spoke and overlapped in her ears, her consciousness floating in a crowded assembly of unknown speakers and tangled conversations. She recognized the words, not in a way she could speak, but as a feeling in her core.

Zeih’mak. Bae’vess. Meh’zohs. Cha’vienne. Cooh’voss. Luh’vein. Fey’ahx.

Above all the voices, one became clear. Rhynwhen. Every word blended from a thousand speakers, and somehow, their mingled sounds merged into the melodious voice of the child. She looked into Rhynwhen’s eyes, and the voices cut off. But now, instead of emptiness, behind her gaze Mella saw an ocean of thought and feeling beyond comprehension. 

It was as though a whole nation lived within that tiny mind.

Chapter 33
I’m Not Him

Mella marveled at the child before her, the mysteries surrounding the Selvan heiress piling by the minute.

She wanted to ask about the voices, sure Rhynwhen heard them too, but something sharp and hot stung Mella’s fingers. A piercing sound like shattering glass rang out from the mountains and raced through the air into the metal gun. The lines of golden light suddenly turned bright red, and as they danced across the weapon’s barrel the metal itself flashed red and vanished. The gun retracted in an instant and left a small steel cube in Mella’s palm. 

The torrent of magic disappeared, replaced by a sense of urgency. Mella could feel something coming.

“We have to get away from here, now!” she hissed. She slipped the metal cube into her bullet pouch and ran to the armored figure. Elzar and Elaryn followed, each grabbing one of their attackers by the arms and dragging them toward the treeline as fast as their legs allowed. Rhynwhen trotted behind at an even pace, staring at Mella the whole time with a new look in her eyes. 

She was curious.

The warriors were surprisingly light, and the group made it up a small hill and into the trees in less than a minute. The stretch of woods was thin and offered little cover — Mella could see some of the small houses from Heldriss on the other side a dozen or so paces ahead. Clusters of shadows on the ground marked the corpses of villagers, and Mella forced herself to look away before the memory made her sick.

A crash erupted in the field behind them, and the earth shook beneath their feet. Another crash sent out a small shockwave that nearly knocked Mella on her face. She pushed herself up and looked back.

Two warriors in dark silver armor stood by the pile of dead dragons. One held a black sword, and the other aimed a long metal gun back and forth as it scouted the field for threats. 

Mella and the others braced and held their breath before a deafening roar tore through the night sky. Mella couldn’t believe her eyes. An enormous dragon smashed into the field in a shower of dust and dirt, as though it had been hovering just above without the armored figures or any of her companions noticing. The air around its body rippled with energy, blurring her view of the creature, but its dark navy and pine green scales were unmistakable. She’d seen it before. 

It wasn’t like other dragons. The beast stared down the warriors with a menacing snarl that was at once both terrible and majestic. Its eyes, golden yellow like a wolf’s, glared at the attackers with fierce intellect, threatening but somehow collected, focused. Instead of fear, she felt awe and a sense of connection she couldn’t explain. It scared her like nothing she’d ever experienced. 

The first warrior aimed and fired without hesitation while the other dashed to the side. A purple beam flashed through the small space between the gun and the dragon’s head, stopping abruptly as it collided with the wall of clear energy rippling around the creature. The figure fired again, and a second beam glanced off the strange energy and streaked past the group, slashing through tree trunks and exploding off soil and rock deeper in the forest. 

The second warrior jumped at the dragon, flying across the space between them with incredible speed. The dragon was faster. It spun in a blur of motion, its bat-like wing throwing out a gust of wind that shook the trees. Its tail whipped through the air and cut across the warrior’s path, slamming the armored figure into the dirt with a series of bounces. Blue sparks danced up and down the metal armor as the figure went limp. 

The remaining attacker’s gun vanished in a burst of red light. The warrior held out both arms, palms facing the dragon, and lines of clear energy streaked out over the dead grass between them. Power slammed against the rippling wall surrounding the creature, and both streaks shattered like long icicles thrown against brick. Whatever strange power this dragon commanded was more than a match for the warrior’s magic.

Mella watched, transfixed and mesmerized, when a throbbing pressure appeared again behind her eyes, like after the tower crashed down the mountain. Her vision split in two. A strange mist rose from the dragon’s body, a shimmering copy of the creature that floated out from its flank in a dense cloud and turned toward her. She reached for her pistol. That same terrifying connection from before came rushing in, a sense of being seen and known by an ancient power beyond her comprehension. 

The mist vanished, if it had ever really been there. The dragon unfurled its enormous wings, sheets of skin and muscle blocking the moonlight before its talon-like claws cut into the earth on either side of its neck, now pressed low against the grass like a snake preparing to strike. 

Mella heard Elaryn take a sharp breath beside her. They all watched, amazed, as the remaining figure raised its arms and slowly dropped to its knees in surrender. Even after what the first attackers had tried, Mella wanted to yell out. She’d seen too many soldiers die in dragon fire to wish that death on anyone. 

But unlike any dragon they’d encountered, this creature seemed to relent. The tension left its muscles and it pushed up its body to loom over the warrior. Mella’s shock was cut short by the throbbing pressure in her head. A dizzying wave of calm washed over her mind and body. All sense of control gave way to something like intention pulling on her limbs. 

She stepped out of the woods.

Elzar and Elaryn hissed and called behind her as loud as they dared. She barely heard. Her thoughts were scattered, her eyes fixed on strands of gold light floating over the figure’s arms. An orb of rippling energy appeared around the warrior, and the gold strands tied themselves around the figure’s arms and pulled them behind its back. More strands reached out from folds in the energy like white foam on the crest of an ocean wave. The golden light bound the figure in place, and the orb of energy and strands of light shrank and vanished.

Mella could still sense the energy around the warrior as she approached. The dragon turned and watched her step past. She felt nothing. Her trance only lifted when she stood two paces from the figure, another wave of dizziness making her step back to catch her balance. Her thoughts once again her own, she spun in alarm and braced with her korossa. 

The dragon was gone. 

Holes in the soil and deep indents in the grass still marked where it had been, but the field was empty save the glowing fires from the dead dragons and the subdued warrior before her. 

She turned back to the warrior, half expecting to die a quick death any moment in the jaws of an invisible dragon. She considered probing the air with her sword. But the pressure behind her eyes faded with each passing second, and the feelings of intention and focus, that bizarre and terrifying bond she’d felt with the creature, grew weak and distant as the dragon flew away.

“Let me help you with that.” 

Mella shuddered. She recognized the voice, and it took all her strength to turn toward the speaker. Valdaris Drascar, the Cereman who killed Dain, walked past her without so much as a glance, his face half hidden under the hood of his rich navy cloak. Her sister, of all people, stood a few paces behind him. Their eyes met, and Sevora signaled caution with her hand. 

The Cereman held out a hand from beneath the folds of his cloak. Light blinked off his ruby ring from the nearby dragon fire, and the gem pulsed with red light as Valdaris twisted his hand. 

The energy surrounding the warrior vanished and the figure fell forward, bracing against the dirt with now unbound arms. Red light danced across the figure’s armor and raced up and down the dark silver plates. The armor retracted and vanished in a second, leaving only a thick metal belt and a skin-tight suit of strange, fibrous material around the body of a man. 

Mella could only stare. The man pushed himself back onto his knees and looked at the Cereman with calm defiance. He had short black hair and a trimmed beard salted with grey and white. But his skin was paler than any Mella had ever seen. Not even Ceremans had skin so pale. Not even dead Ceremans, thought Mella, remembering the fixed look of death and shock on Dain’s face in his tent at Varessi. 

“So it was you all along,” said the man. He had a thick, deep voice and an accent Mella couldn’t place. 

“I’m not him,” said Valdaris. “I—”

His voice cut off as he spun right and caught a thin blue beam on his open palm. A second and third beam followed in quick succession, each streaking out from the treeline and stopping an inch from his hand. 

Mella watched as a young woman wearing a black suit like the man’s stepped out from the forest, both hands clutching a silver pistol at eye level. She fired again, taking another shot with each step as she advanced. Valdaris bolted for the attacker. He dodged the next beam and Mella was knocked off her feet by the blast hitting her chest. 

Sevora raced over, but other than thin black smoke rising from a new scorch mark on her vest and a smarting backside, Mella felt fine. Maybe a cracked rib or two, she thought as she took a deep breath. 

The sisters braced in a huddle as they looked back to the battle. The Cereman caught another volley of beams on his hand, dodged another, then flicked his wrist as he steadied himself. His ruby ring pulsed once again and grew out in thin streaks of red light like the retracting swords and armor of the strangers. He caught the next beam on the blade of a fierce longsword. His motions were a blur, ducking, parrying, and slashing the air as the two combatants closed the distance. A few more beams streaked past Valdaris and shot overhead or exploded against the field in bursts of grass, dirt, and fire. 

When they were fewer than a dozen paces apart, Valdaris deflected a beam with his sword in one hand while pulling back his hood with the other.

The woman stopped. She looked stunned, then braced as though ready to fire again anyway, but after a few seconds she slowly lowered her weapon. 

“I saw you die,” she said. “We all did.”

The Cereman paused before answering. 

“I’m not him,” he answered. “Not really.”

Chapter 34
Alessa Sinclaes

Alessa had been right. Knowing didn’t feel as gratifying as she’d expected. Not when the truth had come at such a high price. Some part of her already knew there was no going back. She’d never see her parents, her brother, or her home again. 

“Sinclaes, help me get Falcen out of his suit.” 

Commander Maldeem knelt over the other knight, blue sparks still skipping across the surface of his armor. Falcen’s vitals were stable — his armor had absorbed most of the shock. Alessa wondered in passing how long her retinal display would function without upkeep. For now, at least, she could monitor the team’s health while keeping a wary eye on the infected. And someone needed to watch the Gildramor, now that they knew who he was. Zarah. She still couldn’t believe it, even if she’d held her suspicions. 

“Now, agent,” said Maldeem. 

Alessa came to and stepped over to Falcen’s side. She unclipped her synth rod and aimed a line of red light at the largest fissure. The knight’s shields split in crackling blues and greens while small filaments of metal liquid traced across the cracks. The adjacent armor plates sparkled with golden light as the metal bonded. 

She repeated the process in a few places along Falcen’s chest and flank while the armor’s self-repair began to stabilize the overcharge. The two women next to Zarah stepped closer, watching Alessa work with a medley of confusion and curiosity. She tried to hide her wariness by focusing on Falcen. Both the women’s readings were triggering a barrage of alarms down her display’s right half. Twins, by the look of them. And one of them carried a synthetically enhanced strain, while the other had some kind of distortion field around her that was playing havoc with Alessa’s sensors. 

Neither reading should have been possible. Not here. Not now.

Alessa tapped a few commands into her wristband and linked with the basilica suit. The armor retracted into the knight’s belt in a few flashes of bright red. Falcen’s head sank back into the dirt crater, breathing but still unconscious.

“Where are the others?” asked the commander. He stared at Zarah with measured authority, as though he were still speaking to a civilian engineer aboard his ship.

“In the woods, just back there,” said Alessa, pointing to the trees off to their left. Her link to Falcen’s suit brought up the other knights’ markers on her scanner.

As if on cue, three more strangers emerged from the treeline. Their strain counts were higher than anything Alessa had ever seen. The man wore armor and medieval garb matching the soldiers they’d fought a week ago. A whole regiment had fallen against the basilicas before the rest scattered, doomed to die from the radiation soon after. These people, whoever they were, had barely begun to master gunpowder. Hardly a fair fight.

But the woman carried three basilica blades, one with a signature Alessa’s scanner couldn’t pin down. Just touching one of those rods had been known to put the unenhanced into comas. And the girl… the child between the two adults shone bright red on Alessa’s display, strain saturation beyond what should have been possible. Not even dragons had draemeir counts that high.

“It’s alright,” said Zarah as the strangers drew near. “They’re friends.”

“That remains to be seen,” said Commander Maldeem.

“Allies, then,” said Zarah. From the look in his eyes, Alessa didn’t think he meant it as a suggestion.

He flicked his wrist and the smoky crystal blade of his longsword retracted into the hilt. The black metal serpents forming the crossguard began to move, slithering up Zarah’s hand and shrinking around his finger.

We never thought to look for a ring.

The newcomers seemed just as surprised by the display. The armored soldier followed Zarah’s hand with his eyes until the glimmering ruby disappeared behind the Gildramor’s cloak.

“Who are you, and why did you attack us?” asked the soldier.

The commander remained silent, and Alessa followed his lead.

“There will be time for that later,” said Zarah. “But I’m glad you’re alright. All of you. We should go meet up with the others — they’re waiting for us on the other side of the village.”

He spoke to the group with a familiarity and warmth that confused Alessa, as though he hadn’t been serving on the Gondran these last eighteen months.

He’d been assigned to Maldeem’s ship by Varsema Corp just like her. She’d been sent as a corporate agent and analyst. Zeremon Geravess, or Zarah as everyone called him, had been a last-minute addition to an already full roster of engineers, the only civilian among them. Knowing now who he really was, the addition was less a mystery. But Alessa and the basilicas still had no idea where the vortex he opened had taken them, or how he knew the people here. Or, for that matter, how he’d survived when she’d watched him get torn apart by the Karziv’hakaz.

A distant roar interrupted her thoughts. All heads turned toward the mountains, the faint glow of the burning fortress now mingled with hints of dawn creeping over the forest behind them.

The moment passed without incident, and no more roars echoed overhead. Falcen stirred and the commander gestured for him to stay calm and quiet. The twin sisters broke away from the group, turning their backs while the one who’d arrived with Zarah leaned closer to relay something with harsh whispers. Alessa tried to listen in, but the distortion around the woman turned her voice into sharp, painful screeches.

The rest of the group remained silent and made for the treeline. Maldeem helped Falcen up and broke off from the others toward the remaining knights. The armored soldier eyed them warily, but Zarah motioned with his hand and the man returned to the little girl in the blue dress. Alessa tapped her wristband and shut down her cybernetics, opting for unenhancement if it meant shutting out the glare on her display. The red glow around the girl vanished, and the fiery woman’s sharp voice cut off.

Alessa sighed with relief. Her enhancements would do little good in the company of so many infected. She’d turn them on later to be safe.

Besides, with a clear head she had access to her best advantage: focus. Her ability to fixate on detail while drowning out noise was what Varsema brought her on for in the first place. She was the one who’d identified the shadow transactions backing this venture.

Whoever was behind them was smart. They had access to advanced algorithms and hyper-responsive firewalls, using backdoors into the Gondran’s mainframe linking out to an unknown source.

Alessa was also the one who noticed anomalies in Zarah’s system logs, well before his actions at Haldrem showed he was more than he appeared.

She’d watched him closely ever since. Her scrutiny had turned to fascination, and fascination had turned to friendship. Zarah was her only real friend among the ship’s crew. Even when she began to suspect his involvement in unapproved system changes and manipulating the expedition’s course, her conversations with the engineer had been a welcome reprieve from the monotony and isolation of space.

She only realized she was alone with Zarah and the strangers when they reached the woods. She’d locked onto the back of Zarah’s cloak and forgotten where she was. Her attention narrowed but her mind felt dazed.

The twin with the enhanced strain turned to Alessa, looking more confused than wary. She seemed kinder, gentler, than her sister, if too deferential for Alessa’s liking. Alessa didn’t mind living in others’ shadows, preferred it even, but few people tried to use her as a doormat without paying dearly for it. She had a vindictive streak she’d grown fond of over the years.

Her foot caught on a root as they entered the woods and she tripped forward. The gentle-looking twin caught her just before Alessa tasted dirt. She nodded in thanks and quickly lowered her gaze, her cheeks already flushing bright red.

She tripped again, this time without anyone reacting fast enough to catch her. Her head felt numb, her fingers barely registering the feel of dirt and dead leaves as she tried to push herself up.

Nausea bubbled in her throat and she heaved air, overwhelmed by the terrible need to vomit without the bittersweet reward of release. Her lungs went limp and her eyes widened. She couldn’t breathe. The strangers rushed to her side, but she could already feel her thoughts scattering into a tangle of dreams as her vision went dark.

Chapter 35
The Salamand

Alessa caught glimpses of moving trees as the smell of bile filled her nostrils. Her body was limp. Her arms stretched around the shoulders of the twins as they carried her out of the woods.

She remembered little else. Darkness blanketed her vision, a violent and compressing darkness that shook her fevered mind with waves of dread and despair. Stars blinked out in an endless expanse of black space, interrupted at intervals by blinding rays of orange light, like beams streaking through the filters of her cabin window as the Gondran sped by a dying sun.

She'd loved that first sight of the Narembdan sun. The whole crew celebrated as they passed. After millennia, they were finally coming home.

The harsh light Alessa saw now was nothing like that. Her eyes burned, a sting like soap that closing her eyelids did little to help. Her vision slowly adjusted, revealing a canopy of red leaves overhead that shone like rubies as daylight broke through from above.

A sharp screech cut through the air. Hundreds of small birds took flight, blue and silver wings fluttering between the ruby leaves as an enormous hawk dove through the branches. Alessa’s back pressed into the dirt while twigs pelted her from above.

“You’re okay,” said Zarah, leaning over her and steadying her quivering shoulders. “It’s gone now. Dire hawks rarely attack humans, especially in groups.”

Alessa propped herself up, still shaken by the sight and her ears still tense. She wasn’t the only one. Falcen and Corrim stood nearby with their swords extended and armor covering all but their heads. Another piercing wail echoed above.

The hawk’s cry vibrated through the air. For a moment, thin rays of light flashed across Alessa’s vision in a tangled blur, shifting with every movement of the leaves and branches above. She reached for her wristband, thinking her cybernetics had reactivated, but the light receded before she could switch off her sensors. She shook her head and looked back to the others.

“Where in the blazing scheth are we?” asked Corrim. “Hawks don’t grow anywhere near that big.”

“They did once,” said Zarah. He knelt beside Alessa, his left hand relaxed around the hilt of a long, curved sword at his side. His other sword, the one she knew to fear, was nowhere to be seen.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been asleep for days,” she answered.

Falcen joined them, though he seemed aloof. He tapped his wrist, clearly scanning one or both of Alessa and Zarah as he looked them over.

“Almost a week, actually,” he said. “You’re lucky to be alive. I’ve never seen a strain this potent.”

Alessa’s heart caught in her chest.

“Marsa’s gone,” said Corrim. “And the commander will likely pass by nightfall.”

Alessa tried to keep calm, to harness her focus, but her hand shot for her wrist and tapped her cybernetics into high gear.

Her display confirmed the worst. Somehow, she’d been infected, her saturation count climbing as she watched. The display flashed yellow to indicate an enhanced strain like in the twin from earlier.

She knew what this meant. Few had ever succeeded in manipulating the draemeir strain, and most of those unleashed horrors on their worlds even worse than the strain itself. A yellow strain dormant in a conscious host had only been achieved by one, and he was sitting next to her.

Gilden slaves, she thought to herself, shuddering at the thought of becoming one of the Gildramor’s puppets.

“What have you done to me?”

“I saved your life,” said Zarah. I’m not your enemy.

Her eyes widened. She’d heard the second part in her mind, clear as though spoken aloud.

Blue sparks flashed along Zarah’s neck. The sharp edge of a basilica blade pressed against his exposed flesh, then flickered as red sparks skipped off the black metal.

“Take us back.”

Commander Maldeem stood behind Zarah, fully armored but hunched over and clutching his chest. The sound of his breathing came through his helmet in wheezing rasps. Red dots and wisps pulsed across Alessa’s display, disappearing and reappearing in bursts as though somehow evading the suit’s bioscans. And the commander’s sword seemed to extend and retract in bursts of energy each time the strain resurfaced. Alessa shuddered. To her knowledge, Maldeem was the first knight knowingly infected. She couldn’t imagine the devastation that kind of power could do if the strain took hold.

Maldeem retracted his helmet, and Alessa shuddered at hints of black vein already crawling over his face.

“Take. Us. Back.”

“I can’t,” said Zarah.

Maldeem’s grip tightened and his eyes grew dark with fury. He jerked the sword up, bracing to strike.

Zarah was faster. He flicked his hand, and an invisible force slammed the commander against the nearest tree. Shimmering red leaves and broken twigs rained down on the small party, catching in Alessa’s tangled hair. The commander struggled, a field of clear energy shuddering around his armor as he thrashed about. Zarah kept his palm facing Maldeem and twisted to face his attacker, rising slowly while his navy cloak rippled in the breeze.

Corrim and Falcen aimed their blades at Zarah, but both looked hesitant. Even Corrim wasn’t dumb enough to try something here. No basilica had ever faced the Gildramor, but none doubted who’d win that contest. Powerful as they were, basilicas couldn’t level mountains with a stare. They couldn’t turn back entire fleets with nothing but a sword. And they couldn’t command the dragon swarms.

“You don’t get it, do you?” said Zarah. “There’s no going back. The world you left is gone, erased in the folds of time by every action you’ve taken since you arrived.”

Maldeem glared back and opened his mouth to snarl a response. A hissing sound stopped him short.

Everyone looked up. The hiss came again, and Alessa strained her eyes to find the source. Sprawled out between the branches, a terrible shape began to crawl down the trunk. Brown and red scales shimmered in the fading sunlight, the reds blending with the leaves above until the creature had fully emerged, metallic browns fading in and out of sight with every movement. A reptilian head stopped a few feet above the commander, beady amber eyes locked on his scalp while its long jaws parted with another hiss, a long, forked tongue flickering out between rows of white fangs.

A gun snapped from the left and a lead ball tore into the trunk beside the creature. The giant lizard zipped through the air and swerved back up into the tangle of branches. Clawed legs grappled through the treetops, slashing through some of the smaller branches but quickly vanishing as its enormous body blended back into the reds and browns of the canopy.

From over Falcen’s shoulder, Alessa watched one of the twins from earlier return a wooden pistol to its holster at her side. She looked at Zarah and the commander with raised brows, her features showing interest more than alarm.

Maldeem dropped back to the forest floor with a thud, bracing the trunk while his eyes darted back from the treetops to the shooter and finally rested on Zarah. Alessa fought the urge to pull away. The commander’s eyes were black with hatred, and her sensors confirmed the worst. He was already gone.

“You should join us away from the trees,” said the twin to no one in particular. “That won’t be the only salamand looking for an easy meal.”

The knights traded glances, then retracted their blades while keeping a wary eye on the trees. Corrim helped Alessa to her feet with little care, appearing lost in thought for perhaps the first time in his life. But Alessa was circling the same troubles in her mind.

A salamand. An old-world predator. She’d seen fossils and models, of course. But she never imagined how terrifying, colorful, or fast they’d been in real life.

And the implications of seeing one alive were beginning to sink in. The party followed the twin through the trees, and Alessa looked around her with renewed wonder. She noticed Falcen doing the same. They’d thought this place some unknown world, a lost paradise untouched by the draemeir calamities and modern war alike. Now, she and the knights knew better.

They were home. Narembda, before the Fall. Before the Karziv’hakaz. However far beyond belief, the Gildramor had sent them back with his dying breath. And yet, thought Alessa as she watched Zarah from behind, here he is.

The group continued until the trees grew taller and farther apart, but as they approached a clearing, Alessa began to feel dizzy. The air between her and the others rippled like a mirage until the entire scene shifted before her. Fading light turned to night in an instant, the trees ahead now dark except for strange crystal orbs glowing orange like torches from metal rings wrapped around the trunks.

Falcen was gone. Corrim, Maldeem, and Daggen stood braced with swords out, circling warily around the shape of Zarah kneeling on the forest floor. Each knight held a repulsor in their free hand, the metal orbs emitting a shrill tone and waves of energy meant to neutralize the infected. Ripples in the air battered the engineer subdued before them.

From the shadows, a cloaked woman emerged with a long, curved blade held loose by her side. Alessa recognized the twin she’d been following just moments before, now dressed in battle garb of polished green and brown leather, savage determination glimmering in her dark eyes.

She stepped between Daggen and Corrim.

“You knew this was coming.”

She took two quick steps forward and plunged the sword into Zarah’s chest, piercing out through the navy cloak behind him while Zarah looked into his attacker’s eyes with shock and pain.

Alessa’s breath caught in her chest. Sharp pressure cut through her ribs and fire burned her right lung, but the feeling vanished as her surroundings rippled back into a sunset forest. But as she looked up, she saw Zarah off to the side, one hand braced against a tree while the other clutched his chest.

He looked back at Alessa. The engineer drew himself up, giving a strange look that felt undecided between resolve and resignation. His hands rose and pulled the navy hood of his cloak over his eyes, and with a final nod he stepped back behind one of the trees.

“Wait!” she yelled after him.

The others turned, but she knew it was too late. She approached the spot he’d been, scanning the surrounding woods and finding nothing. Not even the birds and lizards registered on her sensors, and the clearing was empty.

The knights joined her and fanned out from the spot, ceasing their brief search when their own scans confirmed what they already knew.

The twin approached them, her earlier look of cautious interest replaced by one of unparalleled rage.

“He’s gone,” said Alessa.

Chapter 36
Karziv’hakaz

Elzar Kanaris watched his cousin playing from across the fire. He was glad to see Rhynwhen’s carefree, untamable humor return after the events at Kartumol. She’d witnessed more death and terror than most do in a lifetime. Her silence the first few days after the attack had been troubling, but she bounced back as though the slaughter at Heldriss, horde of monsters, and endless swarms of dragons were all a distant memory.

Elaryn hovered from a distance while Melladar danced in circles with the child. Elzar found himself grateful these two women had taken to his cousin. She’d need protection and support in the days and years ahead he knew he couldn’t provide alone.

The rest of the Siivalans sat around the fire in silence. Smoke rose in gentle clusters to the canopy above, carrying away the scars of battle and loss as they stared into the crackling flames. Seddram, their captain, clutched the blackwood and amber hilt of his korossa as though poised for another battle. Only four others sat with him, two Elzar recognized from the journey up the Deldran River and the others from the Mindan barracks. No one else had survived the attack on Kartumol.

A hint of blue light shimmered between the hilt and scabbard of the korossa at Elzar’s side. It had done that several times a day lately, usually when the strangers were near. Sure enough, their party was just stepping into the clearing from the woods opposite. Sevora Embraya stormed out ahead of the others, the Siivalan looking ready to explode with a rage beyond what he’d seen from her to date. And that was saying something.

Melladar and Rhynwhen stopped their dance, wary after the knights’ attack days before. Elaryn gripped the metal rod on her belt with poised severity. Sevora walked over to her sister and Rhynwhen scurried over to Elzar’s side, grabbing her korossa and sidling up beside him. He couldn’t tell if she was more afraid of the knights or Sevora.

“Vald’s gone,” said Sevora.

The strangers came to stand by the fire, but all heads were turned to listen in on the Embraya sisters. Melladar looked strangely unsurprised by her sister’s news.

“The Cereman?” asked Elzar. “What do you mean, he’s gone?”

“He attacked their commander… the sick one,” she said, nodding to the knights. “We were on our way here when he just vanished in the trees. No sign.”

The commander, Zashebb Maldeem from what Elzar had gathered, limped closer to the fire.

“Who is he to you?” he asked.

“Trouble,” said Sevora. “And a murderer.”

Elzar tensed, but he’d expected this. He’d suspected the truth when Valdaris summoned a longsword from nothing during the knights’ attack. The murder of Dain Baerd, another Cereman who’d fallen in with the Siivalans, was still fresh in everyone’s mind. Elzar had tasked his men, back when he had men to speak of, with hunting down just such a weapon. To see it in the hands of Valdaris Drascar, to learn the mysterious but heroic captain had killed one of his own, stretched the mind to breaking. And he’d honored the man with a weapon of untold rarity and power.

He looked across the fire to Seddram, noticing a look of shock on the other Siivalans. But their captain narrowed his eyes just shy of a glare, at once pensive and irate. Elzar was having trouble keeping track of the divisions among the Siivalans, but he had little doubt Sevora was responsible for the faint scar running across the right of the captain’s neck parallel to his chin.

“So it’s the same here,” said Maldeem, trading glances with the other knights as though deciding whether to say more. “Where we come from, he’s known as the Gildramor. We never knew his identity. If I had known he was serving on my ship…”

His free hand tightened around the metal rod at his waist, his other hand still holding his chest while he struggled to breathe.

“The Gildramor?” asked Seddram.

“Gilded demon,” said Maldeem. He paused again, leaning off-balance and nearly slipping into the fire before one of the knights caught his arm.

A younger woman stepped forward from behind the knights. She wore one of the fibrous mesh suits the knights wore under their armor, but the strangers referred to her as an agent of some kind. Her skin was even paler than theirs, almost glowing in contrast to her long, black hair. Elzar sensed she was more civilian than soldier, except he’d seen her brief battle with Valdaris. He found himself staring from time to time at the metallic pistol at her hip, wondering how such powerful weapons were even possible.

The woman locked eyes with Seddram. She had a tense air about her, at once dangerous yet terrified, though her study of the captain seemed born more of curiosity than fear. She skimmed her eyes over the rest of the group before stepping up to the fire.

“Whatever his past, he saved us in the end,” she said. “Or so we thought before coming here.”

She began tapping a metal band at her wrist. Beams of orange light shot out from a single point on the band’s edge and caught in the smoke above the fire, forming outlines of shapes that danced in the black clouds like a second flame.

A man stepped out through the light, armored and shrouded in a dark cloak. Even outlined in orange, flickering light, the detail of the illusion was staggering. Elzar looked up at the figure’s metal mask in wonder while Rhynwhen clutched his arm and a few of the Siivalans edged away. He noticed Elaryn and Melladar stepping closer to his left.

The man held a sword. All present save one or two of the Siivalans studied the blade with recognition. Elzar looked back into the metal mask, realizing the cloak wrapped around the figure matched that now borne by Valdaris Drascar. He’d worn it since the dragon attack at Mindan, luxurious navy fabric that played with the eyes and denied clear focus. Elzar had never seen its like. Now he wondered more than ever how the Cereman had come by it.

The man turned, blade raised, and shrank before them. Thin beams still flickered in the smoke around the warrior, who now looked like a bright figurine no larger than a finger.

A flash of orange forced Elzar to cover his eyes as a new image filled the smoke. He braced and almost knocked Rhynwhen over as his weight shifted back. A few Siivalans crawled away in panic.

The new image was a snarling dragon. It loomed over the tiny figure bracing before it, a monster of impossible size and terror if the illusion could be believed. Elzar’s bones shook and his breath came short at the sight. Somehow, he knew the monster was real.

He expected a battle — some epic clash between man and beast, like seeing Valdaris face down and defeat a dragon at Mindan as though it were nothing.

But the Valdaris in the illusion, if that’s truly who they were watching, turned away from the monster. He pulled a curved dagger almost the length of a shortsword from his belt and threw it. The illusion pulled back, zooming out enough to follow the dagger until it stopped midair, suspended in the smoke like a runaway ember.

Brilliant light shot from the dagger in short strands, orange so bright it seemed white. The air around the dagger cracked like broken glass, fissures of thin orange suspended above the earth that began sucking in rocks and dust from every direction. Elzar pulled back farther before assuring himself this was only an illusion.

The warrior took two long strides toward the light and tossed the sword into the fissured air. It vanished.

The dragon tensed as though surprised, then opened its enormous jaws in a silent roar. Elzar shuddered at the thought of hearing such a monster in person. Instead of unleashing an inferno of liquid fire, tendrils of orange light appeared before the terrible creature, strands of energy or fire that suddenly shot out like tentacles, some wrapping around the warrior’s limbs and others piercing through his cloak and armor like shrapnel.

The light faded, shimmering in the smoke and vanishing completely, but not before they all watched the tendrils of energy tear the warrior to pieces in a quick, savage burst.

“So I died after all,” said Valdaris.

All heads shot up and Elzar jerked upright from the sight of the cloaked Cereman beside him. But there was no one there. The space to Elzar’s right was empty, no indents in the dirt and moss marking the Cereman’s presence, the voice and vision already fading from memory like a dream.

“What in schatha is going on?” said Datha, the Siivalan closest to Seddram.

The knights all held the rods at their waists but let their hands fall away as the seconds passed. The young woman stared at the empty space next to Elzar, then tapped her wrist.

“We were there,” she said.

“Careful,” said one of the knights. “He may still be listening.”

“If he’s been here listening and he’s that powerful,” said Maldeem, “he already knows everything.”

“But what about the new strains?” asked the woman. “We can’t even trust ourselves in this place… should we—”

“Hey!” Sevora Embraya stepped into the group, hand on her hilt. “Are you going to tell us what’s going on here? What was that thing? And how could Vald have been there?”

“I just want to know how she even did that whole flashy light thing,” said Datha.

“Shut up, Datha,” Sevora spat back.

Datha mumbled a curse under his breath while the strangers traded glances.

“What you saw was the Karziv’hakaz,” said the woman. She looked put off by Sevora’s abruptness, a disdain for arrogance and brashness Elzar knew too well, but the woman continued. “The god of dragons, the great demon, destroyer of our world. Of your world, I think.”

“So that’s what he meant,” said Maldeem.

“You saw the salamand,” said the woman. “This has to be Narembda. Before the Fall. They never existed anywhere else.”

Rhynwhen mumbled something incoherent, looking at her feet and teetering in place, but amidst the gibberish Elzar caught the word under again and again.

A gust of warm wind was their only warning. A stream of liquid fire ripped through the canopy over the opposite end of the clearing, the shadowy outline of a dragon sweeping toward them from the west. Fire incinerated the branches above and tore into the forest floor, a line of erupting earth and charred destruction that raced toward them.

The Siivalans scrambled away while trying to draw their pistols, and the knights flashed red as their helmets drew over their heads and metal weapons appeared in their hands. Elzar grabbed his cousin by the waist and began sprinting for the trees when her voice filled the air like booming echoes from every direction.

“Cooh’voss!”

A roar from above cut short with a sharp hiss. The torrent of flame stopped with a vile splash a few feet from the group, the fire snuffed out in an instant by what looked like a wave of frost and ice. The trees behind them snapped as the body of a black dragon crashed through. Its limbs shattered into pieces as it struck the ground, its head and most of the long neck rolling off along their path through the clearing.

The entire company stared in awe.

The young woman returned her pistol to her belt, the metal fixing to her waist without a holster as though by magic. She looked up, locking eyes again with the Siivalan captain with a familiarity Elzar couldn’t account for, and Seddram nodded in return.

“We should go,” he said.

Chapter 37
The Chazurii

Seddram Peltan brushed frost off his shoulder.

Valdaris had warned him of the girl’s powers. He’d witnessed them firsthand when she transported their entire company from Mindan to the border of Kartuma in an instant. It was still something else to see.

Questions hung in the air like dense fog, but slowly the company began to move. The Selvan commander drew his cousin away from prying eyes and Elaryn Deldraea followed close behind. Seth still felt his head go numb from tangled emotions at the sight of the Selvan royals.

Mella took a hesitant step after the Selvans before following her sister ahead of the group. She seemed more shaken than ever, and Seth questioned Valdaris’s decision to leave her in the dark. At least he’d told Seth what to expect, what little good that did to prepare him for the recent battle or the changes rampaging through his mind and body.

And at least he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t sure when or how to approach the young agent with the armored knights always towering over her. Parting from their company would raise too much suspicion. He also wasn’t sure how much she knew, save their mutual connection to Valdaris. Not everyone would see this power as a blessing, even if it saved their lives.

The Chazurii. The name still pricked his mind like a stuck bur. The idea of being, or becoming, anything other than a Siivalan gave him pause.

Marrin and Datha approached from his right, waiting for orders and looking intently as though they expected answers too. He had few to give, and he had them join the Embraya sisters ahead while he stayed behind. Seth watched the other two Siivalans, Bern and Mardem, trail the musketeers in silence, still unsure how to process recent events and eager to reach Aldruvia.

He couldn’t blame them. They’d been ripped away from their stations in Mindan and watched friends die at the hands of monsters, only surviving because the savages suddenly stopped in the heat of battle. Some scattered, but most of the creatures stood over their victims in a daze or fell over as though asleep. No one knew why, but the survivors had little chance to celebrate. They’d sheltered together in the fortress ruins while swarms of dragons attacked from above, waiting in the cold dark for hours before they finally dared venture out.

And now this. Seth kicked a splash of frozen oils at his feet, the liquid fire spilling from the icy shell with a pungent smell that made him dizzy. Valdaris was yet to explain how the girl’s vocalir magic was so much stronger than other Selvans, and Seth’s hunger to understand scratched at his mind with renewed fury.

He brought his focus back to the clearing. He let a gap grow between himself and the strange company, knights and Siivalans and Selvans, making their way through the arched pathway. The last hints of a red sunset streaked through the canopy above, thin beams of red light skipping off the knights’ armor before fading from Seth’s enhanced vision. This second sight, pulsing glimpses of the world through a tapestry of color, made even the mundane feel thrilling, and Seth wished he could maintain the effect longer. Every strand of light was felt as much as seen, each flicker bringing a brief sensation of calming clarity.

Valdaris said this was how the world always looked to him now.

Seth collected himself and made after the others, stepping over a frozen chunk of dragon flesh dripping oil, blood, and water on the forest floor. The clearing widened as the rubilines grew taller, glowing markers fixed around their trunks to light the path deeper into the heartwoods and scare off predators. Seeing the ancient pathway jolted his memory, and he was eager to press ahead so the outlying townships could be warned, Kartumol cleared, and the people of Heldriss given a proper burial.

The strangers slowed their journey, however, looking at the glowing citriol markers and the rubilines towering above with childish awe. He had to remind himself they’d never seen this world. Not like this.

Valdaris hadn’t told him of the strangers’ arrival before Kartumol. Seth didn’t think Valdaris even knew until their skirmish outside the village.

In the days since, there’d been little time to talk. Valdaris shared what he could. He’d shown Seth visions of a future where this entire world had been devastated by vile monsters, a colorless world shrouded in charred rock, endless ash, and black stormclouds without end interrupted only by the terrible figure of that giant dragon from the woman’s recording.

Not even Valdaris had been strong enough to face it, a god of dragons with powers beyond comprehension. So he’d somehow replicated his own mind, sending his sword back through the millennia for his younger self to try again.

It was strange to think of Valdaris as two versions of himself struggling to reconcile within a single body. Stranger still to imagine living so long. And according to the Cereman, Seth and however many more Chazurii he made would live just as long if they survived the battles ahead.

But Valdaris hadn’t counted on anyone following his sword through the vortex.

Seth closed the distance between himself and the others but stopped at the sound of hissing from above, then from behind. None of the others seemed to notice. He could feel something watching, a primal, instinctual curiosity playing at the back of his mind that grew as something approached from above. He looked up.

The glowing shape of a salamand clung to the branches of the arched canopy, two amber eyes staring down and its scaled body pulsing with eerie light only he could see. Seth reached for his korossa and the salamand tensed. A chorus of shrill hissing came from the clearing behind. He pulled his hand away and turned, stiffening at the sight of a dozen salamands climbing down the rubilines to gorge themselves on the chunks of dragon meat below.

He stepped back, keeping every movement slow and precise while his eyes scanned up and down from the closer salamand to the pack behind. When he finally risked turning, he was amazed to see the rest of the group still facing forward as though they’d heard nothing. He glanced back again, and the distance between them and the salamands doubled. His head went dizzy from the sudden shift.

He shook himself and continued onward. He knew he’d adjust to these changes eventually, but as the sky grew dark overhead he found himself wondering how much else Valdaris had failed to mention. Seth valued a world he could understand, because as slow as he sometimes was, at least a world understood was a world he could predict.

It took another hour for the company to reach the nearest township, a small outpost built between the taller rubilines or dug out from between the tangled roots below. Bern and Mardem opted to stay behind to fill in the local captains and take time to recover. They’d journey south back to Mindan from there. The captains would send messengers to neighboring outposts, gathering support to defend the border and eventually retake Kartumol, while the rest of the company continued on the road to Aldruvia.

After more than two years, Seth was finally going home.

He was excited at first, eager to reconnect with friends and mentors from the Zirravah resistance. He owed his rank and skills to the connections he’d made during years of clandestine work to undermine Selvan dominance. But as the company continued along the winding pathway through the dark forest, the road ahead barely visible in the orange citriol light, an ominous pressure throbbed in the back of Seth’s mind. He wasn’t sure if the warning came from Valdaris or if he was simply unnerved by recent events. Sounds from critters and creatures of the forest echoed overhead, their source hidden behind the veil of black night at the path’s edge. Seth knew to respect the wild terror of the heartwoods at night, but this was something else.

The path ahead finally narrowed, and the Embraya sisters disappeared as they turned down a steep wooden stairway built into the slope. The commanding knight stopped at the edge with the other strangers, all five marveling at the sight beyond the hillside.

They’d reached Mobrid, the largest western township of Aldruvia. Seth found himself marveling as well, the familiar sight of suspended structures built between massive blackwood trees now illuminated like the agent’s earlier recording by endless rays of orange light. Citriol lamps reflected through crystal prisms and systems of mirrors positioned across the town made the forest look alive, a warm, inviting light that lent an air of majesty to the carved structures above and below.

The knights made after the others down the stairway, trying to keep balance while distracted by the floating township ahead. Seth looked forward to seeing their reaction deeper in Aldruvia, where the heartwood floor fell even deeper and the trees grew taller still, allowing for Siivalan ingenuity to create true wonders of architecture in their woodland home.

As the group reached the basin floor below the town, the warning in Seth’s mind sent a shiver through his nerves and a flash of red across his eyes. He grabbed the hilt of his korossa and felt a soothing chill rise through his arm into his chest. A few slow breaths helped him regain composure, but he cut out all distraction and set his focus on the path ahead.

Two lines of soldiers stood ready between the blackwoods, at least a dozen Siivalan musketeers aiming their weapons at the approaching group. Hints of silver flashed in the orange light. Seth made out three Selvan officers at the head of the welcome party. Breddel Embraya stood beside them, hands clasped at her waist while watching the arriving party with a calm, ominous smirk.

The knights flashed red. The Siivalans tensed, all muskets now aimed at the strangers, but Breddel raised her hand to signal restraint. She took a few careful steps forward, her satin cloak trailing behind like black serpents crawling on the forest floor.

“Welcome to Mobrid,” she said, her voice rising and falling in that bizarre way of hers that signaled insincerity of the worst sort. “Daughters, I’m so relieved you are well. We’ve been expecting you.”

Even the Embraya sisters remained fixed in place. Seth searched his mind in vain for some explanation. They couldn’t have known about Kartumol, the strangers, or the survivors’ journey to the heartwoods. And Breddel reaching Mobrid before them stretched credulity. She’d have to have left Mindan days ahead of the Kartumol attack, well before the Selvan girl sent them across the many miles with a single word from the ancient tongue.

“Seddram Peltan, come forward.”

Seth’s gut dropped, but he fixed his eyes on the matron. The company parted and watched with equal parts confusion and morbid curiosity as he stepped through.

“You are hereby relieved of command and your right to kossa.” She nodded to the Selvan officers. “Relieve him of his ill-begotten weapon.”

The Selvans hesitated, looking conflicted at taking orders from a Siivalan. But a second later their hands were tight around Seth’s arms as the third officer reached for Seth’s korossa.

Never. His mind went dizzy with rage. He used his newfound strength to toss the first Selvan into the other two with a swinging motion. He felt the man’s arm pull from its socket with a crude snap. But before he could do more, his legs went limp and he fell forward. He braced, and his right arm dug into the dirt and leaves of the forest floor while his breath came in tight bursts.

The fall had torn his jacket sleeve and pushed it up just far enough for Seth to see black and silver markings now etched into his flesh. The silver tree of Siivala flickered below his wrist, a silver chain framing the image in a circle before wrapping around his arm. He pulled his tattered sleeve down to hide the discovery as the Selvans jerked him to his feet.

“Bring me the sword,” said Breddel.

The Selvans looked at Seth’s hip. “What sword?”

Seth looked down, as confused as the others to discover his belt empty of the sword and scabbard that had been there just moments before.

Breddel approached, looking not at Seth’s hip but into his eyes. She studied him with menacing, calculated cruelty before her mask of stately calm returned and she turned to the others.

“Sevora, your commission and orders,” she said, pulling a rolled parchment from her belt. “Congratulations, captain. The Naemredd empire has declared war on Selvar, and there is much to be done.”

Chapter 38
Ambrove Conspiracy

Sevora Embraya reveled in her new position. She’d earned it.

And she felt no sympathy for Seth, that quiet fool who’d led them astray for so many months and years. He’d fallen in with a murderer — he had this and so much worse coming to him. Weak men made dangerous leaders. His demotion was a service to her people, and she was proud to benefit from his disgrace.

She just wished they’d found his korossa. She’d been livid when she learned the Selvan commander Elzar Kanaris had gifted Valdaris with a prime korossa meant for only the greatest honors, then gifted a korossa on par with her own to Seth before accepting the captain’s on behalf of the Selvar. The whole ordeal was the worst affront to the Siivalans in centuries. Clearly, her mother felt the same.

A few Siivalans were left behind when the others were swept away to Heldriss. Her mother had pried the details from the stragglers and set off for the heartwoods the same day. Sevora still couldn’t piece together how her mother had arrived so quickly.

There’d be time to talk later. For now, she was off to meet the strangers and finally piece together their connection to Valdaris. She sensed animosity there she could turn to her use.

Still deep in thought, she shrugged her way across one of the busier bridges between the town’s blackwood platforms. She was amazed by the bustle in this once tranquil city. War had sprung the Siivalans into action, the sounds of drills below drowned out by endless chatter above and protests from visiting Naemreddans being rounded up by escorts for their journey home. She saw more than one hooded figure among the departing, brown robes and arrogantly serene faces marking them as Athamein cultists here to steal their secrets. She wished they’d been expelled sooner.

She crossed a few more platforms and bridges before reaching thick stairs that spiraled around one of the blackwood trunks. She had to resist her urge to take them two at a time, eager to reach the complex above. They’d granted rooms to the strangers in exchange for promises to talk later, though Sevora doubted the Siivalans could restrain their guests if it came to conflict. The guards in ceremonial green and gold garb outside the complex doors were there for show, and they let Sevora pass with a nod and curious stares as she closed the doors behind her.

“Thank you for coming,” said one of the knights, legs sprawled out and arms dangling from the back of his chair like a spoiled prince.

All but one of the strangers sat around a long, black table under a chandelier of antlers. Sunlight filtered in through a clear resin ceiling, a few feet below the upper canopy of blackwood leaves. The light reflected off their dark greens and gold trim so the complex came alive with color.

“Where is your commander?” asked Sevora.

“Sicker than ever,” said the knight. He leaned forward and planted his chin on his hands. “I command the basilicas in his absence. And I’m less patient, or curious about this place, than some of my friends here, so say what you came to say.”

She wanted to clock the man, but she needed allies. She stepped closer. As if on cue, the strangers jerked their heads in surprise and all began tapping at their wrists like fidgeting children.

“See?” said the pale woman on the right.

Sevora eyed the woman with contempt, curbed only by her desire to find an ally in someone who’d attacked Valdaris on sight. But she’d nearly killed Mella with a misfire and had seemed rather cordial with the Cereman once he uncovered his face. The pause grew awkward as they studied each other.

“So, what do you want?” asked the first knight.

“To kill Valdaris Drascar, for starters,” said Sevora. “But I’ll settle for learning what you know about him. And some answers, like why you attacked my sister and the Selvans.”

“Can we be sure she’s immune?” asked one of the other knights across the table. “Just look at her sister.”

“Her sister is gold-strained like me,” said the pale woman. “And all the other ‘Siivalans’ appear immune, somehow.”

“These Selvans,” said the first knight to Sevora. “We have some record of them. But who are you? We have no records of this place, or of an entire nation somehow immune to the draemeir. Do you even know what we’re talking about?”

“I know what Valdaris told me,” said Sevora. “That the draemeir are parasites, some kind of evil being capable of destroying worlds. But he told me nothing of you or where he came from.”

“How could they know?” asked the woman. “They barely have gunpowder. And before the Fall, we had no idea the scale of threat posed by the strains.”

“So you’re from the future, like he is,” said Sevora. “He told me that much. He was normal one day, mediocre even, and the next it was like talking to a stranger. One with a penchant for killing anyone and anything connected to these so-called draemeir. Including one of his own people.”

“He really did it,” said the woman. She looked around the table, her voice lifting with excitement. “This is where he’s from. It has to be, sometime before the Fall. We knew he was ancient. And we knew he’d infiltrated our most advanced systems, something only a machine intelligence could achieve for any length of time. If he has access to technology like that, let alone the technology to bend time, he must have been able to map his consciousness and send it back. He’s here to try again…”

“Or do something worse,” said the first knight. “He’s already infected three here, that we know of. He’s reshaping history to his own ends. If this is before the Fall, we’ve come back thousands of years, at least. Imagine what he could do here.”

The room fell silent.

“What’s this about him infecting people?” asked Sevora.

“Your sister, Melladar, right?” asked the woman. Sevora nodded. “The man you demoted when we arrived… and me. We’ve all been infected with some kind of modified draemeir strain. In our time, over hundreds of years, people began vanishing in the thousands. Never in large numbers, and never with any discernible pattern, except that sightings of the Gildramor always preceded or followed the disappearances. Eventually, we caught glimpses, however fleeting, of those he’d taken. They’d come in and out of our cities like ghosts, completing some task, whether infiltration or study or even murder, and then vanish again. What trace genetic material we recovered from their visits… we can analyze the matter left by organisms, see… Never mind. What traces they left behind always revealed a draemeir strain unique to the visitors. We took to calling them gilden slaves, after him.”

“Which is why maybe you should let us do the talking,” said the knight beside her. “As long as you’re in the room, he might as well be. Even one draemeir particle can communicate what it sees and feels across endless space. We have to assume he can do the same.”

“So that’s how Mella—”

She cut herself off. She could only imagine the danger her sister was in, and she had some inkling of the powers Valdaris had given her after seeing them duel. But she wasn’t a slave — Sevora would never let the likes of Valdaris take her sister from her.

“You’ll have to keep an eye on her,” said the knight. “And the captain.”

“Former captain,” said Sevora. She stifled a smirk at the reminder of his demotion. “If anyone’s in league with Vald, it’s him.”

“We can’t do much for now, and the Gildramor isn’t our most pressing threat,” said the knight. “If we’ve really returned to before the Fall, that means we can find and kill the Karziv’hakaz before it grows and the Fall ever happens. I’ll be damned if I’m not the one to do it.”

“That giant dragon from your… recording?” asked Sevora.

“The god of dragons,” said the woman. “The ultimate failsafe to protect the draemeir. We think the draemeir created it, and the other dragons, long before the Fall, tools unleashed when the strains feel threatened. A way to contain their hosts and destroy those who develop immunity or resistance to their control.”

“So why haven’t the dragons attacked Siivala?” asked Sevora. “If we’re immune, like you keep saying, why attack Selvar and Naemredd, but not here?”

“Interesting… we don’t know,” said the woman. “The draemeir thrive on chaos and suffering, as much that of their hosts as the immune, or the resilient like us. Maybe more so. But never underestimate the draemeir’s ability to manipulate from the shadows. From what I’ve seen, your people are preparing for war alongside these Selvans. That’s not a coincidence.”

“We don’t have a choice, and haven’t for hundreds of years,” said Sevora. “Siivala has been serf to Selvar for most of our history.”

“Then you are serfs to the draemeir as well,” said the first knight. “We’ll have to tread carefully. In the meantime, I want to lure out the beast.”

“How do you plan to do that?” asked the woman. “There’s no record of where it hid before the Fall.”

“We’re going to look for where the draemeir are most concentrated and powerful,” he replied. “We’ll find where their influence is strongest and strike hard and fast.”

He leaned forward again, looking up at Sevora with grim but eager eyes.

“What can you tell me about the little girl?”

Chapter 39
Mobrid Attempts

Elzar Kanaris drew his sword with a clear ring and braced.

He felt exposed without a shield, especially in the presence of kossa masters who could match his swordplay with eyes closed, but he’d make do. He had more than a few tricks with a Selvan blade and free hand that even a kossa master wouldn’t see coming. And unlike most of these aged monks, he’d been tested in the heat of battle. He took no pride in Selvar’s endless wars, but they’d taught him to value composure and luck over theory.

His life had forced him to train that composure and cultivate his luck, always pursued by the greed and whims of higher families but scraping by one way or another. So far.

In times of peace, he’d have relished the opportunity to explore Siivala’s capital and reforge the links once binding his family to the lower houses. But with war in the air, he was better off training.

He leapt forward, stabbing the air beside a blackwood stave and using his momentum to slam his shoulder-guard into the dark wood. He pivoted on the other side, swinging his arm wide but stopping the blade an inch from the stave. His sword arm felt stiff, but he stepped in and knocked a smaller stave with the flat of his sword to simulate a parry. The larger stave rotated on its base and he blocked another imaginary blow at his waist, switching hands with a spinning flourish and stopping another strike just shy of the wood.

He stepped back and prepared to repeat the maneuver. He ignored the smirks and stares from Siivalans nearby, unimpressed by his simple form and Selvan garb. He allowed himself a smile, though, when he noticed the definitive dent he’d left in the stave with his shoulder. He’d have to check his spaulder later to make sure he hadn’t dented his armor as well. Though touched by vocalir, his armor and sword had limits he was reluctant to test.

Both had passed to him from his family, vestiges of times when the Kanarians were respected and prominent members of the Malda. He wore his armor and sword in proud defiance of the forces seeking to destroy his legacy once and for all, though here in Siivala he knew they marked him as an oppressor. And as he shifted his weight, he found himself envying the lighter gesh armor and robes of the Siivalan kossans. They harvested the dense fibers used in their battle garb from gizza nests, large mounds in the wilder parts of the heartwoods that housed hives of flesh-eating insects only the Siivalans knew how to subdue. A risky endeavor, but well worth the prize of fabric not even bullets could pierce unless enhanced with vocalir.

“Scared to dull your blade?”

The arrogant tone and strange question left Elzar confused until he realized one of the strangers was approaching from across the training grounds. The knight, Corrim, wore a Siivalan leather jacket and tan pants over his mesh uniform, and at his side he was twirling and tossing a black metal rod. The onyx weapon glimmered in the morning light, floating for split-seconds between tosses or spinning too many times on the back of his hand. He was manipulating the weapon with some kind of magic, flaunting it even, without a care for who noticed.

“Blackwood doesn’t cut easy,” said Elzar. “And despite what you see around you, it’s hard to come by. A Selvan blade like mine is one of the few that could damage a training post like this. I’d be a poor guest to try it.”

“I wonder how it would hold up against mine,” said Corrim.

He flicked his wrist, and the now familiar black sword shot out in a flash of blue and red sparks. He eyed Elzar with a smirk, then crossed the impossible distance between himself and the post with a single bound and cut it down with a clean, smooth strike. The blackwood smoked down the middle as the upper half of the stave split from the rest. Siivalan bystanders gasped in unison, and even some of the kossa monks stood in protest, but Elzar had little chance to react.

Corrim spun in place, swiping his sword above his head and bringing it down on Elzar with a crazed look in his eyes. It was all Elzar could do to pivot while lifting his sword to parry.

The knight’s sword cut through the Selvan metal like water. Elzar never even felt the impact. His sword simply lost half its weight in an instant.

Corrim stumbled into the space where Elzar had been, and Elzar’s mind went numb with animal rage. His arm shot out like a viper, cutting into the knight’s flank with the stub of metal left on his hilt. A crystal-like wall of energy crackled around Corrim’s body, blues and greens faltering around a bright fissure where Elzar had struck. The shield gave out as the knight reached to clutch his side.

Elzar took a deep breath and lowered his center, a grim focus possessing his features so that when Corrim turned to stare down his opponent, he saw nothing of the mindless reaction he’d provoked a second earlier. It was a trick Elzar learned over years of war, terror, and injustice, a way to harness and hide his anger at will so the inferno within didn’t consume him alive.

Elzar braced for a retaliation that never came. Corrim looked down at Elzar’s broken weapon, then stumbled his way across the grounds to his approaching comrades, bumbling out commands with a shrill voice strained by shock and panic. They drew him away, glancing back and forth between Corrim’s injury and Elzar before turning a corner into the crowded streets of lower Mobrid.

Elzar stared after the knights, reluctant to give up his forced calm after yet another attempt on his life. He was growing tired of enemies around every corner.

“Are you alright?”

The voice was Melladar’s.

He gave himself a moment, then turned with a sigh. He figured she’d see through any attempt at concealing the wave of emotions bubbling up inside him.

“I suppose we should have expected this, after our first encounter with them,” said Elzar.

Mella shifted her weight as though about to step closer. She studied the hilt in his hand and the blade lying in the dirt.

“I saw what happened,” said Melladar. “If their swords can do that to Selvan steel, would our korossas fare any better?”

He shook his head. “This was my father’s sword.”

He glanced sideways at the growing crowd of Siivalans and tossed the hilt in the dirt. Melladar gave a knowing look, and the two made off for a nearby stairwell. He was glad for the company, but he had no interest in using a crowded lift to reach the upper levels. On any other morning, a walk up one of the Siivalan stairwells with Melladar at his side and the rising sun flickering through the rails would have been a gift.

He felt her hand slip around his and the pair continued on in silence. He was glad for one thing in his life that finally made sense.

“I know it’s no substitute for your own sword, but maybe you could use Seth’s korossa until Rhynwhen is ready for it,” said Melladar. “I wouldn’t risk carrying it here in Siivala, but when you leave…”

He wished he could stay, but he knew they were both thinking of the deployment ahead. He couldn’t begin to fathom the madness driving Naemredd and Selvar into open war. So many lives had already been lost, first in the Ceremai campaign and then to the dragon swarms. But that wouldn’t matter to a new emperor trying to prove his resolve, and Naemredd had come out of the dragon attacks far stronger than the Selvans, losing a few border towns as opposed to the bulk of its army.

More troubling still, the rumors running through Mobrid’s streets said the new emperor was head of the Order of Athamein — zealots with powers similar to the Cereman’s, and yet another group eager for Elzar and his cousin’s demise. He was glad to see them departing the city.

The stairwell was coming to an end. A large archway of twisting branches and roots opened to an amber resin street, the hard but opaque substance interrupted by weaves of vine-like branches and suspended between the Siivalan’s dome-shaped homes. Streaming sunlight made the pathway glow in greens, browns, gold, and amber.

Elzar considered slowing down, even turning around if it meant more time with Melladar, but she gently slid her hand free as a family emerged from a doorway ahead.

“I’m sorry you had to see…” His voice trailed off. He didn’t have a trickle of guilt for injuring the knight but valued Melladar’s good opinion.

“I’d have done the same,” she said. He wasn’t so sure. She let her hand slide over the curved hilt of her korossa. “And with whatever’s been happening to me… he might have been worse off than a flesh wound.”

“Maybe that would have been for the best,” said Elzar as they continued walking. “He didn’t strike me as just trying to show off. We never got an explanation for their first attack, from them or the Cereman, but a second attempt I can’t forgive.”

“We should warn Elaryn,” said Melladar.

They took a few steps down one of the wide, dipping bridges between platforms when Elzar felt a prickling tension down his spine. Melladar stopped even before he did, and he followed her gaze to the other side of the bridge. Two Athamein monks stood on the next platform, hoods covering their faces in shadow, each with one arm raised and palms facing out. Elzar heard a strange hissing sound and turned to see sparks rising from a cart leaning against the bridge post they’d just passed.

The explosion threw Elzar and Melladar across the bridge, their bodies slamming into the guard rails as the whole bridge titled. Elzar felt blood in his hair but had the good sense to grab one of the rails. A cord on the other side snapped and the bridge jerked in a violent wave, slamming Elzar’s back against the now-vertical planks of the walkway. He heard a scream as Melladar dropped from beside him. She slammed face-first into the rails opposite, her legs dangling over the tattered remains of cords and wood where the blast had hit.

Elzar tried to yell. The words came out slurred, and his vision began to blur. His fading mind barely registered the feeling of his fingers slipping from the rail.

And then, nothing.

Chapter 40
Athamein Asylum

Melladar Embraya saw specks of orange and red through her eyelids.

She woke slowly, alert but disoriented. A warning told her to keep her eyes shut. A firm cot, either from a barracks or infirmary from the feel, pressed up into her back. Sharp rope pricked through her skin at both wrists, and a slight tug from each confirmed she was tied to the bedposts.

“How could we have known who she was?” said a man across the room. Mella opened her eyes just enough to make out a robed figure outlined in the doorway a few feet away. “He was supposed to be alone.”

“I want you out of this city,” came a woman’s voice — her mother’s voice. “If it weren’t for Deldraea’s orders, I’d flay you alive.”

The monk huffed in response, sounding almost amused by the notion. But Mella heard footsteps as the monk stomped down the adjacent hallway, and seconds later her right arm dropped limp beside the bed.

She opened her eyes. Breddel was already making her way around the bed, knife in hand. She caught Mella’s confused stare as she cut her other hand free.

“How do you feel?” her mother asked.

Her voice sounded forced, exaggerated. It was how she spoke to others, that sing-song, condescending voice she used to position herself above and apart from the rabble she despised. She’d never used it on her daughters. The experience made Mella want to hurl, and she had to swallow before attempting a response.

“I’m fine,” she said at last. She felt anything but. She remembered the bridge with a start. “Where is he?! Where’s the commander?”

“He should be just a few rooms over,” said Breddel, her voice lulling casually like there was nothing at all unusual about waking bound after an attempt on one’s life.

Mella leapt from the bed, relieved she was still in her kossan uniform. She’d replaced her worn gear from the previous months soon after they arrived in Mobrid. Though the new gesh leather was stiff and needed to be broken in, it gave her a sense of security she’d felt slipping in the weeks since the Deldran ambush. Yet now, here she was, in one of the capital’s most guarded townships, thrown into the fray yet again.

She grabbed her korossa off a nearby nightstand and sprinted for the hallway. The first thing she saw was blood. The floors were already a darker red resin, opaque but so dark they nearly blended with the blackwood vines and walls of the closed hallway. Interwoven branches sealed off the hall from sunlight, and flickering citriol lamps hung at intervals between doorways to other rooms like the one she’d just left. An Athamein monk, she assumed the one she’d seen with her mother, lay dead a few feet over in front of an open rubeline door. How—

The lamps dimmed, a wall of shadow closing in from every direction. She stepped back and knocked her shoulder against the doorway before turning. Her mother would know what to do.

Except Breddel was gone.

The small room was empty save for the nightstand and the small cot, tattered ropes still dangling from the frame.

Mella turned once more to face the closing darkness. A looming dread shook her bones, but she stood tall and settled her hand on her korossa. The familiar chill of ancient magic passed through her veins like freshly thawed springwater. Even as the orange glow from the hall gave way to total darkness, she felt a deep calm clear her mind. She closed her eyes.

Silence. She hadn’t noticed how quiet her prison had become with the shadow’s arrival. But to her, the quiet was a welcome reprieve, an unintended gift to a mind seeking solace. She took a deep breath, and the room came alive.

Even with closed eyes, she could see every detail, feeling as though her fingers were gently skimming every surface. The bed, the ropes, the resin floor, the nightstand — everything inside a small sphere around her pulsed with every beat of her heart as though connected to her by unseen veins.

The citriol lamp on her nightstand brightened with every pulse. The orange crystal grew from a flickering, sickly hue to an inviting flame-orange like campfire, then grew brighter still until the room seemed itself on fire.

At the edge of her sphere, the shadow closed in from the hallway and slammed into her awareness like cannonfire. She kept her balance, the soothing calm from her sword stilling her mind as she focused on the entity trying to break in. She’d never felt such malice, save from the creatures they’d fought at Kartumol and along the Deldran.

The memory of that ambush made her shudder. Something deep inside her jarred free like a loose painting hanging askew on a wall and refusing to stay level. The shadow sensed her vulnerability and crashed through.

An image of pure malevolence filled her mind, a shadow-maned wolf with red eyes and crystalline fangs like smoky quartz. It was a face she’d only seen in her worst nightmares these past few weeks. But as the unfathomable evil fought to consume her, some hidden corner of her consciousness refused to give in. She’d persevere, if nothing else.

Red flashed across her vision. A warm glow grew inside her like she’d felt while facing the knights during their first attack. Her awareness flew across the room, a disorienting rush eclipsed by an explosion of orange light as the citriol lamp beside her and those in the hallway grew into hot suns of brilliant light. The shadow vanished.

She took a moment to bask in the relief and freedom that washed over her. But her thoughts quickly returned to her mysterious prison.

Elzar. She let her sphere pull back into her core, a focused calm still fixed in her mind. Even so, she decided to draw her korossa. A hint of blue light shimmered along the long, curved blade as it pulled free. The blade was a part of her, responding to the power inside her as much as its own magic pulled her attention forward. The blue light felt natural, pure, yet it served only to remind her of the terrifying changes inside her she couldn’t understand.

She gripped the smooth hilt in both hands and eased around the corner, checking both ways for any hint of the ominous presence before edging out. Stepping past the dead monk, she scanned the next room but found it empty. Her heart began to race. She passed two more rooms with empty cots, windowless and eerily tight, as though designed to make the occupants feel trapped. Madness and desperation lingered in the air.

The hall curved around the blackwood trunk forming the wall to her right, and after a few more feet she saw boots and a bloodied robe protruding from an open doorway. She glanced in.

Elzar lay sprawled out on a cot and tied to the posts like she’d been, past the bodies of two more monks. She tried to ignore the gruesome slash across the middle of one and a deep gash in the throat of the other, stepping carefully across the resin floor and barely able to tell the dark red from the spreading pools of blood.

Elzar’s face was covered in cracked droplets of brown and red. The blood trailed down from matted hair where she’d seen him slam into the bridge after the explosion. Her heart thumped louder for a moment as she checked for a pulse. She let out a sigh when she saw his chest rise and fall. Her other hand gripped her korossa tight enough to turn her knuckles white.

Something moved in the hallway, a muffled shuffling like something dragging across the floor. Mella drew a quiet breath, centered her focus, and swiped up with her korossa to cut Elzar’s hand free. His arm fell limp to his side, but the motion seemed to stir him. She stepped around the cot and cut his other arm loose, and this time he opened his eyes.

“What… where are we?” he asked. He looked around, then shifted his weight upright when he saw the dead monks.

Mella signaled him to stay quiet, then crept back to the doorway. She led with her blade and checked to the right, then stepped over the first monk and checked the other way. Nothing. The halls were empty, and the citriol lamps had returned to a steady glow without a shadow in sight.

“Can you walk?” she asked.

He shifted his legs and began to rise, but he teetered and Mella almost came to his rescue before he found his balance. His hand skimmed over his empty scabbard as though by habit. The commander looked down at his waist with a look of confusion before shaking his head.

“Anything?” he asked, nodding ahead.

“Looks clear,” said Mella.

She led the way, stepping left and checking each room as they passed. Her hands grew warm around the korossa’s hilt and the blade hummed within a light blue haze. After a few dozen steps through the curving hallway, she felt her core, that sinking orb of clarity and focus in her gut, pulse and spread outward. A sphere of awareness grew within like clear water filling a wineskin.

The blackwood trunk beside her filled her consciousness, enormous rings of rock-hard wood shaping a tapestry in her mind before giving way to tears, fissures, and empty space. She realized with a start that the trunk was hollowed out. She pushed out her sphere to reveal a spiral staircase carved into the tree’s core.

She stopped, furious. She couldn’t fathom her mother being part of such a heinous crime, yet she’d been here, working with the cultists in some unholy alliance. And at the orders of our sworn enemy, thought Mella, recalling Breddel’s mention of Selvar’s high lord. She’d known her mother to be calculating and ambitious, but not like this.

Elzar stepped into her watery sphere, and all thoughts of the danger and indignity of carving into an ancient blackwood were eclipsed by what she saw in the commander.

Blood pulsed through his scalp, and she felt the throbbing pain of his wound and the glazed white pulling at his eyes as he struggled to keep them open. But as she probed deeper, strings of black mist came into focus and began swirling through his body in a frenzy. The shadowy tendrils swept in and around his limbs and organs, vanishing behind walls of flesh. The dark serpents swarmed into his head, then swam down his spine and swirled in a cluster around what looked like a grain of sand lodged in the bone, bright gold and pulsing with warm light.

“Is something wrong?”

Mella ignored his question. Her gaze was fixed on that fleck of gold, imperceptible at first glance but impossible to ignore once seen. The veiled radiance pulled her in. Red flashed through her mind, her korossa growing brighter and cool energy spreading out from her core.

The gold flashed orange, as though it had suddenly been plunged in a furnace, and Elzar cried out in pain. Mella felt her consciousness lengthen, a part of her mind stretched thin and pulled into the fleck of orange and gold until the searing heat burned through her head and bones. The cold energy inside her met the wave of heat, and power burst from the speck on Elzar’s spine like a shockwave.

The energy slammed into the tendrils of black mist and cast them out. The shadowy particles vanished as they hit the air, a cloud of sulfuric steam hissing around the commander as his body went limp.

Mella rushed forward, casting her korossa aside. She watched in horror as Elzar tilted back with eyes closed, sure to injure himself further if his head hit the floor from so high. But a moment later she was at his side, one hand under his back and the other cradling his head as she settled him down. She’d covered the distance with all the speed she could muster, and the commander’s fall had slowed as she moved.

Mella shook Elzar’s shoulder, brushing his bangs from his forehead with her free hand.

“What did you do?” he asked. “I feel… free. Like the weight of a lifetime just came off my shoulders.”

He sat up, flexing his fingers and stretching his arms, but as he leaned forward he let out a muffled groan. He pressed his palm to his hair, still thick with blood.

She studied him, unsure how to help and worried her magic had made his condition worse. She looked down the hall both ways and retrieved her korossa from the floor.

“We should get out of here,” said Mella. “This place feels… wrong.”

She grabbed his arm and tried to help him up, though he moved with sluggish weight and his eyes were still glazed over. He managed to push himself onto his feet, leaning into her support, then took a few steps forward.

They journeyed around the curving hallway at a faltering pace, taking longer and longer breaks between steps. But eventually, Elzar seemed to get a second wind. He stood taller, set his shoulders back and head high, and pushed himself ahead. Mella followed, sword to the side and free hand braced to catch him if he fell again.

As they came around the bend, the pair found an arched entry to a flight of stairs, the same stairway Mella had felt carved into the blackwood’s trunk. She took a sharp breath, livid at the sight. Carving into a blackwood, especially one supporting the heartwood’s townships, risked a collapse and threatened the lives of anyone on adjacent platforms or passing on the forest floor. It was one of few crimes punishable by exile, and Siivalan soldiers were known to advance that punishment to instant death if someone was caught in the act. Few disapproved on such rare occasions.

Elzar stepped down, bracing against the blackwood’s dry interior. Mella followed, but she skipped a step and pressed ahead when a sound echoed up from below. She left Elzar and made her way down, lowering her center and stepping with perfect stealth. A few stairs farther down, she came to another arch that opened into a massive chamber carved into the blackwood’s heart. Citriol lampstands were positioned in two rows on either side, forming a path away from the entry. She stepped through, her anger rising to an inferno as she passed over the tree’s rings on the chamber floor.

A force like a crashing wave slammed into her open sphere. The air a few feet ahead rippled and shook, an ocean of energy violently churning as though opposing currents collided under a midnight storm. It took all her focus to keep her awareness from collapsing inward.

She looked up, and at the heart of the chamber she saw an Athamein monk with his palm outstretched, a sphere like hers shaking around his tattered and soot-stained robes.

He seemed different from the others. She strained her eyes, and the distance between them shrank before her with a disorienting rush. The monk stepped back, and she realized with a gasp that she’d seen him before. He was one of the monks who’d accompanied her party from the Varessi springs to Mindan. They’d presented the Maldan dictate ordering Elzar and the Siivalans to Kartumol, and they’d attacked Elzar in Mindan.

Like Mella’s mother, there was no way to account for seeing this monk here in Mobrid after so little time.

The monk raised his free hand, revealing a stone orb the size of his palm, dark grey and covered in strange runes. On a whim, she raised her free hand and reached out, feeling the orb with her mind. A clear line of energy appeared between her palm and the orb. She felt connected to the smooth stone and carved etchings, her awareness slipping through the cracks into the object’s every particle. She pulled with a brisk snap.

The orb flew from the monk’s hand as he cried out in anger. He doubled his efforts to break through her sphere, the air rippling with a desperate quake of power, but Mella hardly noticed his attack.

The orb shot past the rippling air and pressed into her palm. A chilling line of energy shot up her arm, her awareness sinking even deeper into her core as her mind basked in the experience. In her mind’s eye, Elzar appeared before her and she pushed out toward him.

The floor shifted under her feet and her vision blurred. The chamber disappeared, replaced by the carved stairwell with Elzar leaning on the wall to her right.

In his disoriented state, he looked less startled by her arrival than she was. She thought to stir him with a shake when an explosion shook the entire trunk around them. Splinters flew into the stairway from the chamber entrance a few steps down. Mella grabbed the commander’s arm and her vision blurred once more. This time, her mind grew dizzy and drifted through hazy visions like a mindless dream.

They needed to escape, and the orb in her hand seemed to anticipate her need. Another chill rushed up her arm, and suddenly her visions came into focus. Seddram Peltan sat before her on a military cot, angry tears streaming from his eyes as he clutched the back of his head with confused frustration.

Tangled emotions tore at her heart, but Mella pressed forward. She lost her footing as her vision burst open with new colors and she collapsed on top of the commander in what must have been the Mobrid barracks.

Seth jumped up.

“What in blazing scheth are you doing here?”

Chapter 41
Throne of Selvandrea

Valdaris Drascar pulled back his hood and shuddered. The curse of cruelty and broken minds stained the dark walls of this hidden enclave, an Athamein secret within the heart of Siivala he’d only found with Melladar’s help. Her mother’s alliance with the dark lord of Selvar and the Athamein faction that served him was the hidden piece to Siivala’s fall he’d missed the first time. He wouldn’t fail their people again.

He stepped out from the corner in one of the asylum’s rooms, grateful his cloak had hidden him from Melladar’s view despite their connection. She wasn’t ready. Every future he’d seen where he tried to guide her too soon led only to ruin and despair. Her sister and mother still held too tight a grip on her will, and the Embrayas together would spark the destruction of their world if he couldn’t turn at least the sisters to his side. Their mother was too far gone.

Sevora’s penchant for chaos and rash action he could manipulate to his purposes, whether she wanted to help or not. But Melladar had it in her to be so much more, if only she found the resolve to break free. She would need to forge her own path in the battles ahead if she was ever to join his cause.

Power shook the asylum walls, followed by a pulse in Drascar’s mind as Melladar used the chrysalis gate to escape. He was impressed the monks had discovered how to use the ancient tools, even if their understanding only scratched the surface. The ruby on Drascar’s finger flashed red, energy flowing freely through the draemeir connection into Melladar’s mind to guide her to the Mobrid barracks. At least with Seth at her side, Drascar could keep watch from afar — he wanted to keep direct intrusion into her consciousness to a minimum until she was ready.

With Melladar and Elzar safe, Drascar’s attention turned to the remaining monk. He had half a mind to leave the bastard stranded in the tree’s heart. But other monks were sure to have sensed his slaughter of their brethren and come looking soon enough. Better to leave no witnesses of Melladar and Elzar’s escape.

He’d made quick work of the fools keeping Elzar prisoner, and the monk who’d been with Breddel and Melladar had been easy prey outside their room. What he hadn’t foreseen was the shadow presence that came racing into the asylum, a frenzied evil sent by the draemeir after sensing his attack. Melladar held her own against the sinister force, so Drascar was able to hide himself from the draemeir’s gaze. When the evil fled, he reached out and followed its path north in his mind as far as he dared without alerting the final monk nearby.

The monk’s frantic footsteps clapped across the resin floors. Drascar heard him pause at the commander’s room where he’d felled two monks by the door, and the monk raced past the next few rooms before stopping over the body in the hallway.

Drascar saw his chance and took it. He stepped out behind the monk, drawing his Chazendur dagger and slipping it between the man’s ribs while covering his mouth. Shock and pain stopped the monk from biting into the coarse leather of Drascar’s gloves. Not that he worried about anyone hearing the man’s dying screams, but there was something detestably sloppy to a noisy kill.

The monk thrashed about as Drascar let his awareness slip into the ancient metal. Warm energy pulsed through the blade and released the strain he’d hidden within, created with the ruby’s help to turn the draemeir’s plague against itself. Gold mist raced through the monk’s veins and orange sparks seared his nerves, letting Drascar tap into the man’s fading connection to the draemeir’s knowledge.

His mind raced with fleeting impressions, malice and chaos threatening to worm their way into his mind as he fought for control. He knew lingering would draw the evil’s attention and might risk waking the Karziv’hakaz before he was ready, but he found what he was looking for. Visions of a vast throne room flooded his mind, dignitaries and councilors yelling and pointing at maps on a long table under crystal chandeliers. And leaning over the scattered maps, scarlet silk robes and silver hair flowing down his back and sides, Drascar’s oldest rival braced as though sensing the intruder.

Drascar withdrew from the vision. The ruby glowed at his side, and the air around his body cracked like fissured glass before he stepped out into crisp mountain air.

Summer sun warmed his face and bounced off the snowy peaks to his left in bright strands of white and gold. But the ground beneath his feet was covered in grass, a gentle slope of tangled green weeds and bright flowers in blues and purples descending lazily before cutting off at a clear mountain lake.

Lounging next to the brisk water and long tail lapping with gentle splashes on the lake’s edge, Dresca looked up and unfurled its bat-like navy wings, onyx claws reaching for the sky as it stretched. The great dragon, once a deformed monster rejected by the draemeir, gave Drascar a knowing look. The mind behind those amber eyes was far from what it was destined to become, and Drascar’s future self pushed back eagerness to bring more souls into their cluster. He had the ruby and the dragon, a powerful pair; the Siivalan captain and the Ambrovian agent, two lost souls grappling with change; and Melladar, the broken sister refined and purified by a lifetime of hidden suffering. And still, he needed more. He’d always need more. In the eternal struggle against the draemeir, every scrap of power and intelligence he could bring into the fold meant the difference between darkness and light ruling over their world.

Patience.

He nodded, walking over to Dresca and leaning back against the dragon’s tall flank before sitting down. He rested in the shade as power hummed between them. Each long breath the dragon took pushed Drascar’s body forward so he felt like he was being rocked and lulled into a well-earned sleep. He’d always connected with animals better than people, and the link he shared with Dresca was deeper than any with the closest friend or lover. Here, for however brief a time, he was safe.

This would probably be their last respite for quite some time, now that they’d discovered a new enemy in the northern seas and with war declared between Selvar and Naemredd. This was all so much faster than he remembered, but he supposed that was always evil’s game — a foe distracted was a foe unmade. But this time, Drascar was a step ahead.

He allowed himself a few more minutes of calm, the cool mountain breeze chilling his lungs with every breath. While he rested, the ruby’s superior mind reached out, sweeping over the Savolors to the Selvan capital on their eastern edge. Drascar’s path would take him to the great city soon enough — it always had, time and again, before their world fell — but today he had other plans.

The ruby locked on the Palace of Lords atop Selvandrea’s highest level, white and gold spires towering over the city from an enormous plateau. Two mountain peaks fed streams of glacial water into fountains and canals running through the palatial parks before giving way to tangled evergreen forest below. The ruby followed rays of bright sunlight through tall, stained windows into the great hall, planting its attention behind pillars along the throne room’s edge. Drascar fed his awareness into the vision. He stretched his power to its limit with Dresca’s help and projected his mind into the home of his enemy.

He looked down from behind a pillar of hardened pine, his dark cloak rippling as his projection stepped out into the hall. Morraedd Deldraea stood alone by the hall’s long table, back turned to Drascar. He twisted his head enough to glance over his shoulder.

“So, you’re the one,” said the Deldraean lord.

“You don’t seem surprised,” said Drascar.

“It’s not as if you came without warning, though I wasn’t sure we’d meet so soon. Still, was it really necessary to kill my monks to find me?”

“You were a fool to align with the Athamein,” said Drascar. “I was protecting my own.”

“So, you’re with the Kanarians then,” said Morraedd. “A strange choice of ally.”

“They’re no threat to you,” said Drascar. “Neither Elzar Kanaris nor the child Rhynwhen will ever take the Selvan throne.”

“Am I supposed to take you at your word?” said Morraedd.

“Believe what you will.”

“So then, why come?” he asked.

“Because, for now, we share a common enemy,” said Drascar.

“Ah yes,” said Morraedd. “Your actions at Kartumol drew more than just my attention. A dead zovakem prime and scattered dragon swarm were more than I could have hoped for. You do know how to time your arrivals.”

Drascar nodded at the maps scattered across the table.

“Preparing for the worst, I see,” he said.

“Preparations this conversation is interrupting,” said Morraedd. “I can’t fight a war on two fronts. Not if another seal has been broken.”

“You think the Athamein found another cluster?” asked Drascar.

He’d already feared as much. The sinister force he’d encountered in the asylum could only have come from a draemeir cluster — all the worst evils of this world owed their origins to the hidden pits where draemeir wyrms swarmed and waited.

As do we, came a voice from the ruby. Drascar’s eyes grew cold with rage as he remembered being consumed alive by the wyrms.

“I know they did, though I can’t place where,” said Morraedd. “Ancient ruins dot the Palladon islands. They could be anywhere.”

Drascar paused. In his memories of a future that would no longer come to pass, only a few islands in the northern seas survived the aftermath of the Zerakiim eruption — yet another cataclysm he hoped to prevent. He had no memory of ruins in the area, let alone a draemeir cluster. But both would explain rumors of monsters beneath the stormy waves and sailors’ fears of being lost over the world’s northern edge.

“I’ll find them,” he said at last. “But I want something in return.”

“What?” said Morraedd, his feigned civility and patience wearing thin behind those dark, calculating eyes.

“A signed order protecting me and mine, should we encounter any trouble,” said Drascar.

Morraedd grunted.

“Is that all?” He reached across the table, dipping a feathered pen in a jar of ink before scribbling on a small parchment. “There are many hands in the pot, when it comes to the Palladons. You may find this less useful than you’d expect.”

He rolled and sealed the parchment with a cord and dark red wax, then held it out between them. Drascar nodded to the table.

“Ah, of course.”

Drascar guided his projection to the table as Morraedd set down the parchment, letting the misty illusion pass over the coarse material and swallow it within his mind.

“One more thing, Gildramor,” said Morraedd.

Drascar cocked his head, smiling. He’d learned in a past life to never underestimate the Selvan high lord, but his cunning and access to hidden knowledge still took him by surprise. He was surprised all the more by the hint of humanity that flashed across the dark lord’s face as he turned.

“Keep my daughter safe.”

Chapter 42
Escape from Mobrid

Elzar groaned beneath Mella’s weight. She rolled off, stubbing her elbow on a clear resin floor as she stared at blurred figures moving about in the barracks quarter below.

Seth wiped tears from his eyes and tried to compose himself, but Mella felt a familiar rush of guilt tighten her gut and lungs as he turned back toward them. She knew better than most how hard he’d fought for his captaincy, and she knew she was in part responsible for his demotion. If she hadn’t blamed him, wrongly, for Dain’s death, he’d still have his position, and he’d carry one less scar.

“How did you get in here?” he asked.

“We were attacked,” said Mella. “Twice, by Athamein monks.”

Elzar pushed himself up, sliding his back against a wall between Seth’s cot and an empty bunk. Mella watched his labored movement with growing worry.

“Can you help us?” she asked.

“Why in flaming scheth would I do that?” asked Seth, but he seemed to hesitate even as he spoke. He looked down. “Where did you get that?”

Mella had to look down herself to remember the stone orb in her hand.

“You know what this is? One of the monks who attacked us had it, and I think it brought me to you. I know you have no reason to trust me—”

He shook his head, impatient and frustrated, as though trying to avoid the subject.

“I know it wasn’t—” He cut himself off. “Let me see.”

He reached out but waited for her to get up and drop the orb in his open hand. She wasn’t sure whether she was more taken aback by his apparent dismissal of what she’d done to him or his familiarity with the Athamein orb.

Seth pulled the mysterious object to eye level. Mella noticed what looked like a seam around the orb’s middle just as he twisted both halves. The sphere split in two, revealing what looked like golden wires holding a pristine, clear crystal in the orb’s center.

Seth pried the crystal loose, then tossed the two stone halves on his cot.

“This is all we need,” he said. “Can you stand?”

He spoke to Elzar with a quivering voice, unsteady and almost timid. He seemed in perfect control one moment, then lost and broken the next, and seeing him in such a state brought on a fresh wave of guilt.

Seth stepped closer and leaned in to help the commander up. Mella came over to grab the commander’s other arm, and, as she approached, the air around Seth shimmered and rippled, just for a moment. But the effect looked all too familiar. She let her awareness grow outward in a sphere of sensations and focus, catching the shimmering air around the former captain just as it looked about to recede into his body.

Their minds collided. A shared awareness pulled back and forth between them as they grappled to make sense of the experience. Mella’s vision blurred, and in a flash she was back in the Mindan barracks. The long, dark room lined with bunks beckoned with eerie familiarity, and a moment later her eyes widened with recognition. A memory. She watched in horror as Sevora slashed Seth’s throat when she thought he’d murdered Dain. But this time, Mella didn’t leave. Her sister and mother slinked away as Seth dropped to his knees, then collapsed onto his back. Blood was everywhere, squirting from his neck in short bursts as his heart resisted the inevitable end.

Mella could feel the depth of Seth’s shock and his fractured hopes and schemes, broken by the prospect of death. The vision continued, and now Mella watched in stunned silence as Valdaris Drascar emerged from the shadows and approached the dying captain. She tried to call out as the Cereman pulled his long, curved dagger from his belt, white steel shining in the darkness, but her cries died in the void of this terrible dream. And she watched with helpless dread as he pressed the blade into Seth’s wound. The vision collapsed just as tendrils of gold mist swirled out from the dagger and swam through Seth’s body until he was engulfed in a haze of golden light.

The Mindan barracks disappeared, replaced by torrents of rushing water. Mella realized with a pang of knowing terror that she was back in the Deldran River, trapped in rapids with an arrow pulling at her stomach. She felt no pain, but even as a bystander the memory sent her mind into scattered panic. She was ready to break.

Something moved to her right, deeper in the water. A hand reached up, the sleeve of a Ceremai captain’s jacket barely visible in the rushing water as the hand slashed out with the curved Chazendur dagger and cut a shallow gash in her thigh. She watched, fascinated and horrified, as gold mist rushed into the wound.

Mella let go, taking her first breath in what felt like minutes. She fell forward and braced against the wall above the commander.

“I’m sorry,” said Seth. “You weren’t supposed to… I didn’t know. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Mella felt the back of her leg, remembering the gash she assumed came from rocks on the Deldran floor. She’d suspected Valdaris’s hand in whatever was happening to her, but her mind had detached her suspicions from the traumas of that fateful ambush. She looked back up at Seth.

“What did he do to us?”

“I don’t fully know. I just know he saved us.”

Seth looked back at the commander, still pressed against the wall and watching them talk with a glazed, confused expression.

“We can’t be seen here,” said Seth. “He doesn’t tell me much, and I don’t even know where he is now, but I know Mobrid isn’t safe. I can get us out of here, but we need the little girl. And the Deldraean too.”

“Who doesn’t tell you… you mean Vald?” asked Mella.

Seth nodded as they helped Elzar to his feet. He held up the crystal between the three of them.

“Hold tight,” said Seth. “I haven’t done this before.”

The crystal flashed white and pulled them in.

They crashed into what looked like a dining room, knocking over a crystal chandelier and collapsing a wooden table beneath their collective weight. Mella, Seth, and Elzar groaned in unison.

Mella heard frantic movement to her right and watched as Elaryn Deldraea stepped through an open doorway, sword in hand. Her golden hair sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the resin ceiling, and Mella had to adjust her eyes while deciding whether she needed to draw her korossa.

Elaryn lowered her blade just as the strange woman who’d fought Valdaris and nearly killed Mella with a misfire stepped out, metal pistol leveled at the newcomers. She lowered her weapon as well once she recognized them, giving Seth in particular a strange, questioning look.

“How…”

“Hi Miss Mella!”

Rhynwhen jumped into the room from between the two women.

“We’re packing, see?” she said, holding out a small sack before casting it over her shoulder and twirling around as the weight pulled her back. “Oh, what a mess. Mister Peltan won’t be happy, no sirree.”

Mella looked at Seth.

“I thought this home looked familiar.”

“They needed somewhere to stay,” said Seth. “That’s why I was at the b—”

“We have to leave,” said the other woman, locking her pistol to her belt and stepping over. To Mella’s surprise, she offered her hand.

“Alessa Sinclaes,” she said as she helped Mella up.

“Melladar Embraya,” said Mella, trying to be friendly but still wary of the strangers. They’d kept a respectable distance until now.

Alessa looked down at Elzar as Seth helped him up.

“Did Corrim do that?” she asked.

“No,” said Mella. “But he did try to attack Elzar earlier while he was training. The commander gave as good as he got.”

She smirked, remembering the look of panic on the knight’s face as he retreated to his friends while clutching his side. Less than he deserved for his destructive arrogance, by Mella’s estimation, let alone for nearly taking Elzar’s life.

“On our way back from the training grounds, we were ambushed by Athamein monks and taken away to what looked like a prison… or a secluded hospital of some kind. I saw one of the monks from Mindan.”

“You’re sure?” asked Elaryn.

“Positive,” said Mella. “We barely escaped, though some of the monks were dead already.”

“I don’t know anything about monks, but the basilicas are coming for the girl,” said Alessa. “And your sister is with them.”

“Sevora?” asked Mella. “Why would she…”

“They’re after Zarah… Zeremon,” said Alessa. “The man you call Vald…”

She shook her head, looking down at her feet before regaining composure. “I didn’t sign up for this. Not children…”

“What… do they want with my cousin?” asked Elzar, protective anger outweighing his struggle to speak.

“I’ll explain what I can when we’re safe,” said Alessa. “But they could already be on their way.”

As if on cue, a sharp ringing sound like bells filled the air and Mella’s awareness shot out in a watery sphere, engulfing the room. Three beams of purple and blue energy blasted through the blackwood floor and walls, shrapnel of splintered cinders flying overhead as the beams crashed into Mella’s sphere. Her focus held, but her whole body shook and every muscle strained from the tension.

“Hold on!” yelled Seth. He held up the crystal in his hand and it flashed in an explosion of blinding white light.

Chapter 43
Dragons’ Revenge

This wasn’t how Sevora expected her first command to begin. With war coming, she thought she’d be closer to the front lines, winning quick victories and earning easy glory. She’d finally show how a real captain should lead.

Instead, here she was, leading her unit in the opposite direction of the coming battles and following the orders of armored fools.

They claimed to have some way of tracking the Selvan child, so that buffoon Corrim was all but in charge of the expedition. She’d do almost anything to hunt down Valdaris Drascar, but she was quickly reaching her limit. The ease with which these basilica knights considered gunning down a child gave even her pause. She wasn’t sure what she’d do when their next opportunity came.

Sevora had very nearly throttled the knights when they attacked the Peltan house with her sister still inside, and she’d screamed until they recoiled when they’d found no bodies, fearing the knights’ weapons had wiped out any trace of those inside. It took hours for them to convince her their targets had escaped unharmed, even though she was growing used to the impossible since the Cereman’s arrival and the spiral of events that followed.

She was glad Marrin and Datha had tagged along on what they were calling a “rescue mission,” even if Datha’s sarcasm would doubtless push her already-strained nerves to the edge. She wasn’t sure they bought the story of Seth as a traitor, though evidence of his past involvement with the Zirravah resistance had been easy to find.

Breddel had been collecting witnesses and records for years, with an eye to helping her favored daughter advance when the right opportunity arose. The Malda had already ordered arrests and record purges to eradicate the resistance networks, a gesture meant to placate the Selvans during wartime. They’d crack down on known Naemreddan sympathizers and spies as a feigned show of fealty.

Seth had always been too political for his own good, without the status and wealth to protect him when his schemes went south. His past associations had proved the perfect excuse for his demotion.

Sevora gripped her korossa and stood a little taller as chilled resolve coursed through her veins. She pushed thoughts of the former captain aside.

Her sister’s part in all this worried her more. Breddel had gone pale at the stories of Mella’s growing power. And now, despite knowing what Valdaris had done to Dain, Mella had run off with the two men who by all accounts were in league with the murderer.

Even worse was Mella’s obvious infatuation with the Selvan commander. To strategically placate the Selvans was one thing, but consorting with them, even one of high birth, was almost unforgivable. She’d tried to talk sense into her sister on the road to Mobrid, to no avail.

The knights stopped ahead, looking in all directions as though lost despite an arched pathway that only led north. One of the knights, Daggen, tapped his wrist, and what looked like a floating map of orange and red light appeared above the back of his hand.

“Looks like they’ve finally stopped,” he said. “Here, somewhere along the coast.”

“That looks like Amarros,” said Sevora. The knights just stared. “A port town on Selvar’s northern shore. The girl must have used her vocalir again.”

“Vocalir?” asked Corrim.

“Selvan magic,” said Sevora. “They speak words from our ancient language, Siivalar, and things happen. Things they love to lord over our people. But I’ve never heard of magic as strong as the girl’s.”

“It could be the strain,” said Daggen. “Her saturation is off the charts. It’s the only reason we can track her from so far, even with all the interference.”

“Whatever she is, we should keep moving,” said Sevora. “Before they move again.”

Daggen’s map flickered off.

“I’ll make the calls here,” said Corrim. Sevora glared back. “Have your scouts come back yet? I don’t want us walking into an ambush. Our sensors caught something tracking us through the woods.”

“It’s probably just more salamands,” said Sevora. “They won’t bother us along these roads.”

“Salamands aren’t draemeir infected,” said Corrim. “Whatever’s following us is. And we only have two shielded basilica suits now, thanks to that bastard child’s cousin who you promised would be an easy kill.”

“If you were half as good as you pretend to be, he would have been,” said Sevora.

The other knights chuckled and stepped back. Corrim’s eyes went hard, glancing sideways at Daggen and Falcen before locking on Sevora. He smirked, then raised his hand.

Nothing happened.

Corrim cocked his head, then tried again, flexing his hand and stretching his arm as though trying to push the air between them. It was an amusing spectacle. The knight’s pale face turned bright red, and Sevora had to restrain a snort. Her chuckle caught in the back of her throat.

Daggen and Falcen traded worried whispers, and the newcomers to Sevora’s unit came closer to watch the exchange. She caught sight of Marrin and Datha approaching from ahead but kept her focus on Corrim.

They both knew what was coming. She sensed something of a kindred spirit in the arrogant knight, which also made him a perfect rival.

The knight pulled his black metal rod from his belt, flicking his wrist as the long blade emerged in a shower of blue and red sparks. Sevora was faster.

Her korossa caught Corrim’s blade from below. She’d turned her draw into an underhand strike in a single, smooth motion and followed through with a powerful blow from above, forcing the knight back as he tried to block. He stared past their crossed blades with a look of shock.

“Your sword,” said Corrim, the words tense from the strain as he held her back. The other knights looked equally confused, as though surprised her korossa had withstood a simple crossing of blades. She smiled back. “How—"

Sevora used his confusion to her advantage, locking their blades with a quick twist. Her next blow knocked his sword to the side. She stepped back and pivoted, using the momentum to plant a spinning kick in the knight’s ribs. His armor’s weight only made him fall faster, dirt and leaves scattering from where his backside cut deep into the forest floor.

He looked ridiculous, practically folded in half and hunched over. She almost wanted to help, but this was too much fun. The Siivalans watching laughed and cheered, which sent Corrim into a frenzy as he pushed himself up. Daggen stepped forward but Corrim stopped him with a look that could have cut steel.

The knight charged and lunged, planting his sword in the space where Sevora had been before an easy pivot, and she slammed her hilt into Corrim’s head as he stumbled past. He fell forward into the dirt, landing on hands and knees before punching the ground in frustration.

Sevora used the pause to ground herself, letting cool energy from her korossa fill her bones as she lowered her center. She knew better than to provoke a wild beast without bracing for the unexpected.

Corrim got back up, yelling and lashing out with a wide sweep that didn’t even come close. Sevora stepped closer and tapped his side with the flat of her blade while he tried to recover from the miss, then ducked under another furious swing. She had him. She pulled her sword across his waist while stepping right, leaving a faint white scratch in his dark armor as sparks skipped between them.

This time he roared in anger, lifting his sword above his head. Sevora struck before he could bring it down. Her first blow cut through his armor at the hip just enough to push him back, and she used the distance to unleash another underhanded slash that cut across the full length of his chest. Her korossa skipped off the armor in a flurry of yellow sparks and barely missed his chin.

Corrim stood there in a dazed shock. The whole party watched in silence.

“You’re rubbish with a sword,” said Sevora. She said it with as straight a face as she could muster, though inside she was brimming with glee at his expense.

Corrim fumed but said nothing. No one knew how to respond. The other knights stared at Sevora with expressions of baffled wonder.

The moment seemed like it would linger forever, but a strange, warm breeze ruffled the rubeline canopy overhead just as all three knights looked down at their wrists.

“I’ll check it,” said Corrim.

“But your armor—” began Daggen.

Corrim was already in the air, clearly eager to escape the embarrassment below. He covered half the distance to the treeline in a single leap, reaching up with his free hand. A line of clear energy appeared between his hand and the upper branches, and the knight pulled himself into the canopy as though swinging from a rope or vine. Sparkling red leaves shook free from his weight and drifted lazily down to the onlookers. Sevora could barely make out his dark armor between the branches as he climbed higher, then leapt into the open air above the forest.

Shadow swept over the group as a pine-green dragon caught Corrim in its jaws. His final, stifled scream cut short as the dragon crushed through the knight’s armor.

A furious windstorm shook the trees. Roars broke through the forest calm as a swarm of dragons descended on them from every direction. Sevora watched a river of fire engulf the trees to her right, and another stream of liquid inferno cut across the path behind them. An enormous bronze dragon crashed through the canopy, slamming down between the trees ahead and blocking their path to Selvar.

The monster struggled to right itself, pushing up with both wings. Marrin and Datha were closest, both leveling their muskets at the dragon’s exposed chest and firing.

Sparks skipped off the beast’s dense scales, and Sevora’s heart caught in her chest. Liquid fire rained down on her unit’s only musketeers, the only witnesses she had to contrast Peltan’s command to her own, now consumed in a splashing blaze of dragon’s fury.

Chapter 44
Amarros

Elaryn Deldraea was glad to have a moment’s silence. She felt guilty for needing a break from her ward’s boundless energy and distractibility, especially after seeing her so shaken from the events at Kartumol. But Elaryn had her own scars to heal, even if Selvar was the last place she thought she’d find respite.

The captain’s chrysalis gate had landed them in Amarros, a port on Selvar’s western edge where her father held little power and the Zerakiim Order had a strong foothold. She had no idea how Seddram had found, let alone used, the Chazendur artifact, but he couldn’t have chosen a better destination. Each day in their company revealed a new way her order had underestimated the Siivalans.

She was eager to report everything that had happened since her last contact with the Order in Mindan. It wasn’t all good news. She was still reeling from losing Mekkos at Kartumol. Their connection had been severed sometime after he entered the fortress heart, and he never came out. She’d wanted to beg the company to wait near Heldriss in case he emerged, but in her heart she knew her mentor was gone.

She blamed herself for splitting up, but he’d have wanted her to protect the child. The zovakem hive they fought in the fortress was far from the only dark threat in this world Rhynwhen would be the key to facing. Too much was at stake to let Mekkos’s death deter her mission.

She’d felt Malzang telling her to follow Mekkos, but their master hadn’t been there. He couldn’t have known how close they came to being overwhelmed. And some corner of her mind had already decided that if it ever came down to choosing between the Zerakiim and Rhynwhen, she’d plunge the knife into Malzang’s heart herself, without hesitation.

Bells chimed overhead, and rocks skipped off the cliffside path to her left. She’d found the meeting spot easily enough, a wooden bench overlooking the Palladon Sea. Tan cliffs climbed up behind her to the towering structures and high citadel of Upper Amarros. Far below to her right, fishing boats and frigates sailed in and out of the town port like tiny wooden models.

She spotted her contact coming down the stairway to her right. Trees on either side hid his upper body, but the dark boots and trousers matched her own. Zerakiim travel gear was easy to spot, though they’d blend well in a port town swimming with mercenaries and privateers seeking wartime profits.

The newcomer reached the main pathway and made his way toward her. He had one hand loose on the iron rail, taking slow, calculated steps as he looked out over the cliff’s edge. His other hand gripped the hilt of a longsword at his side, and a hardened, almost angry temperament followed him like a cloud. He had a dark edge about him, skin as pale as the strange knights from Kartumol, raven black hair, and strong-cut features like chiseled marble.

“Elaryn Deldraea, as I live and breathe.”

“Podarrek ap Vistandel,” said Elaryn. “I’m still not sure I believe it.”

“No stranger than a Selvan heiress joining the cause,” said Podarrek. “If only I’d known. All those months in our guest wing, and I mistook you for just another pretty face.”

“You couldn’t have been recruited by then,” said Elaryn.

“No,” said Podarrek, shaking his head. “That came a few weeks later, in the thick of the Naemreddan siege.”

“Of… Darumae?” asked Elaryn.

“The new emperor wasted no time,” said Podarrek. “Tarvor had his heart set on war from the moment he overthrew Naemralda. And that meant he’d need our mines.”

“And your father…”

“Gone,” said Podarrek.

He looked out over the water, his gaze severe and eerily steady.

“Making me a king without a kingdom, hiding in one enemy land to escape the ambitions of another. All while the Order of Athamein grows stronger.”

“Are they here in Amarros?” asked Elaryn. “I was told you’d know.”

“Not my mission,” said Podarrek. “The Athamein and I have history. If they come near us, I’ll know. But my orders were to get you and the girl on a ship at first chance. I came here on a privateer brig that’ll do nicely.”

“I have others with me we’ll need to bring,” said Elaryn. “The girl’s cousin, for one.”

“She has family?” asked Podarrek.

“She’s the Kanarian heiress,” said Elaryn. “We’d thought the heiress dead in the convoy ambush with the rest of them. She was rescued and raised in Naemralda, as it turns out.”

“Does Malzang know?” asked Podarrek.

“I can never tell,” said Elaryn. “Can you? He gives me impressions, goals, maybe images… never clear instructions. I’m never sure how much he actually sees.”

“I just know the urgency behind his command to leave Amarros,” said Podarrek. “But we ought to pass word along somehow. This news changes everything.”

“There’s more,” said Elaryn. “Much more.”

The pair set off back up the stairway, climbing to the plateau overlooking the harbor and beginning the long trek down to the bustling lowertown.

Elaryn said what she could before they reached the main streets, enough to put the Daruman prince on guard in case the knights made an appearance. Even with their impressive technology, she doubted they could cross the distance between Mobrid and Amarros in less than a week. And even with a chrysalis gate in hand, they’d have no way of knowing where to look.

The noise from frantic vendors ahead and seagulls circling above cut off her stray thought. She followed the prince through the crowd with a wary eye for signs of Athamein monks or Selvan officials who might recognize her.

The prince’s arm slammed into her chest and pushed her up against a wall just as a horse-drawn cart raced through the parting crowd.

“Take your love-dove shenanigans off the road!” yelled the gruff old man whipping the reins like a madman.

“Do forgive old Jedda here!” cried out the man beside him as they passed. “He does get enthusiastic when fleeing public affection… and the smell of fish!”

The man’s voice trailed off as the cart raced up the hill they’d just come down, wheels skipping off the crooked cobblestone while Elaryn stared in awe. Eventually, she looked down at Podarrek’s arm, still pinning her to the wall.

“Do you mind?”

“Apologies, princess,” said Podarrek, his face empty of remorse and the faintest gleam of a smirk in his eyes.

Elaryn looked back after the two old men. “I could have sworn I—”

She was about to free herself when Podarrek renewed the force in his hold and braced himself beside her.

“They’re here,” he said in a shrill whisper. He led her around the next corner into an alleyway. They watched from behind a pile of nets and boxes as two monks passed through a row of stalls ahead, two boys in their early teens by the looks of them. They were practically tripping over their oversized robes while they searched through the crowd, feigning interest in vendors’ wares and jerking their heads from side to side with the hungry, ambitious, crazed eyes of zealots.

“So young,” said Elaryn.

“Most are,” said Podarrek. “I was. Naive, confused, impressionable. And eager to change the world. Men and women easily swayed by power disguised as truth. It took me years to see through it all.”

“How do you escape something that runs so deep?” asked Elaryn. “I didn’t think it was possible to break the Varessi curse.”

“No one knows,” said Podarrek. “My best guess? Crystals.”

She thought to ask what he meant, but he gestured with his head toward the market. The monks had moved away toward the harbor and their backs were turned.

“Maybe we should go straight to your friends after all.”

Elaryn nodded. She stepped out and led the Daruman past the central market to a series of homes built identical and wall-to-wall, a monotonous row of crammed buildings with flat roofs. She’d left Rhynwhen and the others in a basement apartment the Zerakiim had on reserve for emergencies. Her access to a safe house had raised eyebrows, but she’d stopped worrying about how much the others knew the more everything spiraled out of control. For the time being, they were in this together.

She knocked twice on the door and edged it open. They had to walk through a dark, damp corridor before reaching the central room, a square space lit by a single window just below the ceiling on the back wall. Elzar, Melladar, Alessa, and Seth turned from chairs around a dusty wooden table while Rhynwhen skipped up to the Daruman.

“Hey, I remember you!” said Rhyn. “You were in the big black castle telling everyone what to do!”

Podarrek seemed to ease up, smiling down at Rhyn while hiding a twinge of sadness at mention of his former home.

“It’s good to see you again, Rhyn.”

Elzar set down a tankard with a splosh and rose to his feet, struggling for a moment to push himself off the table.

“Elzar of house Kanaris, I presume,” said Podarrek. “I’ve heard of you, though I don’t believe we ever had the pleasure.”

“All good, I hope,” said Elzar.

Elaryn thought his speech sounded slow, but he stood tall and his words came clearer than when he landed in the Peltan house.

“Let’s discuss the struggles of noble blood from safely aboard your ship, shall we?” said Elaryn. “Are we ready to go?”

Seth and Melladar lowered their own tankards, then grabbed packs off the floor and helped the commander cast one over his shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” asked Elaryn. “Athamein monks are scouting the town, so we’ll have to be quick.”

The commander nodded, but his features tightened in a wince.

“Let’s go,” he said, clearly unwilling to delay them further.

Elaryn noticed the strange woman had no pack of her own. The ship would have rations and supplies beyond what the others had packed from the safe house cupboards, and beyond that, Alessa would have to make do or adapt to her new surroundings the hard way. She could starve, for all Elaryn cared, but she raised no objections when Alessa pulled her metal pistol from her belt and led the party back through the apartment corridor.

Podarrek took the lead once they got outside, letting Alessa check corners as they made their way through side streets to cut around the markets. He hadn’t seen her weapon in action, but the agent had a commanding presence when alert for someone so otherwise reserved. Elaryn wouldn’t have argued either.

Rhyn took the danger for granted, as ever, and seemed to see this as yet another exciting adventure. She skipped and hummed beside Elaryn while Elzar and the Siivalans guarded their rear. Seth had a cool calm about him, odd to see on a dejected former captain armed with only a single-shot pistol. He’d have his old korossa back now if they hadn’t left it behind in the rush to escape Mobrid, but she thought better of broaching the matter. Something about the captain had changed since Mindan, and she found him harder than ever to get a read on.

She hated that. She liked knowing where she stood with those around her, if only to weigh her chances of living. She’d done everything possible to preserve her reputation when she joined the Zerakiim, a flash of remorse shivering down her spine as she remembered Paltess dying in charcoal sand on Darumae’s outskirts. His blood had been a high price for her entry into the Order, but their demand she remove all witnesses had been absolute.

As the group weaved their way in and out of alleys, a throbbing pressure grew stronger in the back of Elaryn’s head. She’d found the warnings an irritant at first, a continual reminder that her mind was no longer wholly her own. Now, they gave her a sense of purpose. She’d felt lost since Kartumol, but a message from Malzang meant she was back on course and playing her role in a greater plan.

“We’re here,” said Podarrek. “That’s our ship.”

He nodded ahead to a brig swaying on the waves, a far more respectable ship than Elaryn expected despite the grander frigates anchored nearby. The crew stomping up and down the long dock were less impressive. Mercenaries one and all, they looked gruff and battle-worn. Leather straps held up their torn shorts and trousers, most walking with bare feet and no shirts without a care. She noticed more than a few scars and an endless array of tattooed swirling designs and obscene messages transcribed in old Siivalar. Her optimism shriveled in her gut, but she pulled Rhyn to her side and followed the Daruman through the crew.

Podarrek traded words with some of the men and had some keep watch while the rest returned to the brig. Elaryn almost stepped back into Seth behind her when one of the crew reached from above to help her up. She lifted Rhyn up the ladder on the ship’s side instead, then followed in a few quick strides.

On the deck itself, the mercenaries all but ignored the newcomers. They worked the rigging and set about towing the ship to open waters, stepping through and around their new passengers without a glance or word. So long as they got paid, Elaryn expected their indifference would continue unabated for the length of their voyage.

She was about to sigh relief when the warning doubled in her mind. She turned, drawing her zarakas blade and preparing to extend the sword. Podarrek brushed past her while shaking his head.

The Daruman prince scanned the crowd at the dock’s edge. Elaryn spotted them first, the two monks from earlier making their way through the market in a direct line to the brig.

Podarrek motioned for his remaining men to come aboard, then raised his hand to eye level. Elaryn stared, curious, as a filmy silver light appeared in a swirling orb between his finger and thumb.

A gunshot cracked the air above the crowd. Elaryn saw a puff of smoke rising on the far-left side of the market. Another shot went off, this time to their right. A cannon roared from a frigate beside them, tearing a hole in a fishing vessel below, and now the crowd flew into a frenzied panic. Elaryn almost laughed at the sight of the two bumbling monks tripping over their robes trying to escape the rush, pushed aside and falling beneath the trampling mob.

By the time Elaryn could make out their brown robes at the dock’s edge, the brig was well out to sea, sails down and cutting a smooth path through the waves on its way to the Palladon islands.

Chapter 45
A Knight Calls

Alessa Sinclaes kept to herself most of the voyage, which had so far proved quiet. The weather was calm and the breeze steady. She marveled at the speed with which this ancient vessel raced across the open water, and she even caught herself staring openly at the men handling the ship with such hustle and skill. Their demeanor fell far short of an Ambrove military crew, and they were coarse brutes who relished obscenity, drink, and brawling between shifts. But she was impressed nevertheless.

There wasn’t much space on board to be alone, save the captain’s cabin, which had been reserved for the Selvan commander. He’d fallen more than once within minutes of being at sea, and the Siivalan woman, Melladar, had demanded he be given space to recover.

His chances were slim.

Alessa had reactivated her implants, ignoring her discomfort as they clashed with the Gildramor strain inside her. She’d scanned the commander’s head discretely, tapping at her wristband behind her back while the others carried him away. The injury to his brain ran deep, a death sentence even in her own time with all the wonders of Ambrovian technology. She didn’t have the heart to tell the others. They could all see his slow decline with each passing day.

Two days into their voyage, Alessa’s comm link reactivated and pinged her with alerts. She was furious at herself for leaving the link open, though she imagined the knights would be smart enough to track the Selvan girl even if Alessa had closed comms.

She decided to accept the hail. The call came from Falcen, and if she could trust any of the basilicas, it was him. He’d always been the least arrogant of the lot, even if their enhancements and mythic armor gave them a universal god-like pride.

Every time she tried to step away to take the call, however, Seddram Peltan was around the next corner. She couldn’t weigh his intentions, and every glance his way was a reminder of her infection. They’d never been able to study a gold-strained host, so she had no way of knowing what Zarah intended for her and the two Siivalans.

The thought made her shudder. Even if the strain had saved her from the draemeir infection that killed Marsa, that had probably killed Maldeem by now too, she knew there’d be a cost.

After another day of endless pings from Falcen, Alessa was desperate. She leaned over the ship’s rail, watching the water foam against the hull as floating seaweed and an occasional school of fish passed by. The clean ocean air did little for her nerves.

Though her back was turned, her focus was set on the mercenaries passing behind her to dip tankards in an open barrel of spiced liquor, what Melladar had called otus. She and Seddram snubbed their noses at the drink, calling it a crude Selvan imitation of the aged otus produced in the Siivalan heartwoods. It mattered little to Alessa. She’d tried a sip and coughed for minutes after, to the great amusement of the crew, but it’d been a decent enough drink.

The chance she’d been waiting for finally arrived, and she stepped back just as a half-clothed mercenary was trying to slide past her. His drink splashed over them both. The man’s face turned red as he tried to restrain a series of curses. They came out nonetheless in muffled whispers.

Alessa scurried away without apologizing.

She made her way down to the lower deck, passing a long row of black cannons and several crewmen sleeping in hammocks. She wasn’t sure how they managed, with sunlight streaming in through the gunports and the sickening motion of the ship swaying their hammocks with every rise and fall of the waves. She missed the quiet, steady flight of a starship.

The brig’s cargo hold offered a little privacy, at least. The women had been sleeping between rows of wooden boxes and changing from behind sheets draped over the taller stacks. Alessa grabbed some of the stained cloth and pinned it between two boxes, then repeated the process on the other side of the hold.

“Go for Sinclaes,” she said into her comm.

It took a few seconds for Falcen to answer.

“Alessa! I thought maybe…” He hesitated, then hummed as though rethinking what he was about to say. “Corrim is dead.”

“What?!” said Alessa, loud enough she had to cover her mouth with her hand. She crept her head over the sheets and scanned past the cargo hold’s door, but none of the crew coming in and out of the quarters seemed to have noticed. She slid down between two wood stacks and whispered back.

“How is that even possible?”

“Dragons,” said Falcen. “His shields were still down from the scratch the Selvan gave him, and none of us have active synth rods. We were on our way to you when a whole swarm hit us. They tracked us, Less.”

“Do you think it was him?” asked Alessa.

The knights had done more than enough to draw the draemeir’s attention since their arrival, but they’d hoped the interference around the heartwoods would throw any monsters off their scent. The Gildramor, on the other hand, could have tracked them with ease. And if his actions here mirrored those in their own time, he could just as easily have sent a swarm of dragons if he thought the knights threatened his plans.

“You’d know better than me,” said Falcen.

“Hey! I’m not his. Not yet,” said Alessa.

“They were draemeir, not enhanced strain from what I could tell,” said Falcen. “But we’ve seen him control new dragons before without his strain.”

Alessa shuddered. The only thing keeping her up at night more than worry about what Zarah intended for her was the thought of being linked forever to swarms of monsters. She could already feel the growing hive of evil in all its forms wrestling for control of her mind and soul.

“So he hasn’t tried to contact you?” said Falcen.

“No,” said Alessa. “But the Siivalans, Melladar and Seddram… them, I can’t say.”

“Okay,” said Falcen. “Look, I know why you left. I’m not okay with it either, but Corrim pulls rank… or pulled… he was in charge while the commander is out of play, and we can’t ignore the threat. Aren’t you worried about being so close to someone with that high a draemeir count? That girl could be pulling every monster on this planet toward you, for all you know.”

“She’s a child,” said Alessa. “I can’t… She’s different. Have you ever seen a draemeir host like her? Like there’s not a scrap of evil in her? We’ve never seen something like this before. And since when do we just give up on the infected, whatever their count?”

“We’re not in Ambrove anymore, Less,” said Falcen.

“You think I don’t know that?” said Alessa. “We can’t fix history by hunting children. I won’t. Find a better way, or leave me out of it. I won’t be part of something so twisted.”

“Okay, Less,” said Falcen. “With Corrim gone, I don’t think it matters anyway. The Siivalan sister is calling the shots now, and all she seems to care about is finding the Gildramor. I told her following you three was her best bet.”

“Great,” said Alessa with a sigh.

“It gets worse,” said Falcen. “Daggen and I handled most of the swarm, but she took out the apex single-handed. With a sword… She just slipped into the trees, came out by its flank, and slashed again and again until it was drowning in its own fire. I’ve never seen anything like it. The dragon thrashed about, but I don’t think it ever saw her.”

“My sensors couldn’t get a lock on her when we were close,” said Alessa. “Like a weak shield or disruption field. But organic, somehow. They don’t have the technology to come even close to that kind of cloaking.”

“Draemeir?” asked Falcen.

“It can’t be,” said Alessa. “From all we’ve seen, these Siivalans are immune. Whatever she is, a way to cloak from draemeir hosts could turn this whole war around before it even starts.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” said Falcen. “In the meantime, we’re turning back. I don’t think she’s giving up, but I’ll let you know. I’ll check on Maldeem and reach out once we’ve decided our next move.”

Alessa clicked off her comms and leaned back against the boxes. She sighed with relief — she’d been harboring quiet terror at the thought of facing down basilicas. Standing against their plan was the right thing to do, but she’d been living these last few days like they were her last. She’d felt numb, lost, and empty. All while keeping a brave face for the others.

Someone knocked on one of the boxes near the door with a few hollow thuds.

“Are you decent?”

The voice was Seddram’s.

No breaks, thought Alessa. She considered sending him away, but she knew she’d have to face the captain eventually. And the more time passed without either of them vanishing in the night or her mind giving way, the more curious she became.

“Land ho!” cried one of the crewmen from the deck above.

Alessa pushed herself up and pulled down her makeshift barrier. Seddram studied her for a moment from the hold’s doorway before speaking.

“He wants to meet.”

Chapter 46
Port Sauvande

“Welcome to Port Sauvande,” said Podarrek Vistandel. “Known to the crew as Mer’s Cove.”

“Mer?” asked Elaryn.

“Merchants and mercenaries.”

The Daruman played the role of excited guide, and normally the sight of Sauvande on the horizon gave him a merchant’s thrill. He’d taken to his new post well, running weapons and spice trade through the isles while striking at Athamein targets on the side. He was still amazed how active the Dark Order had become in these islands, though he couldn’t imagine why. Whatever their reason, his stops in Sauvande had almost always led to a decent bounty for his men or another enemy struck off the board. It was a far cry from his pampered life in Darumae, but he made do.

Today, the sight of mountains jutting out from the sea made him uneasy. The sky was bright and clear, but there may as well have been ominous stormclouds overhead for how he felt. Malzang’s lingering presence remained silent, which only amplified his worry. Something was in the city. For all he knew, they were walking into a trap.

Within the hour, the crew’s shouts were drowned out by the commotion of the island city. Sauvande was built up the mountainside of the island’s tallest peak, a rising cacophony of vendors’ stalls, shops, warehouses, and hostels built for little else than the business of war and plunder. The Selvans considered its glistening marble walls and towers one of their greatest achievements, second to the Malda in Selvandrea. But as Podarrek and many other outsiders knew with pride, the Selvans had relinquished their mastery of the infamous port long ago. This was as free a place as one could hope to find in Naevoroth.

And it was a heaping mess of greed and disorder.

Most of his new passengers stayed on board during their layover. Podarrek offered to seek out a doctor for the Selvan commander, but Elzar waved him off. The man was in no condition to assess his own health, but he seemed oddly reluctant to burden those around him. Podarrek wondered how long that reluctance would hold when he considered the burden his death would place on the child who clung to his bedside, but there was hard distrust hidden beneath the commander’s stubbornness that Podarrek knew all too well. Elaryn opted to stay and watch over him and the child, a wise choice if Podarrek’s growing unease held true.

He spent most of the day yelling orders and bartering the ship’s haul. His voice was hoarse and the ship’s coffer’s full by day’s end, their crates of Selvan muskets and ammunition selling out in half the time it took to peddle their stores of east isles’ spices and Siivalan otus. He was still baffled the Selvan lords had been willing to part with weapons on the cusp of invasion, as though there were a second war brewing in Palladon — a war secret even to the countless privateers meant to fight it.

Close to sunset, Podarrek caught sight of Alessa and Seddram making their way through the markets. By all accounts, this was their first time here. Yet they followed the winding roads and made their way through narrow stairways to the upper levels without a pause. Podarrek decided to follow.

The Daruman’s sense of foreboding grew to a crescendo as he reached stained marble stairs, and he had to grasp the stone guard to his right to keep balance. His chest tightened, his thoughts coming and going in a tangled disarray. He hadn’t felt this way in months, not since leaving the Order of Athamein.

Of course. A shadow fell over the city’s second level just as he stepped up. He caught sight of a robed figure slinking away down an alley, and he nearly followed. But he had no doubt the Dark Order was here for the same reason, trailing Alessa and Seddram. As curious as he was, as much as he wanted to wait out their intentions, he needed to warn them.

Siivalan greens and brown slipped past his view as the pair entered a side street, a broad road carved into the mountain itself. He set off at a brisk pace and slammed shoulders with a mercenary passing by, ignoring his hollers and more than a few curses from his gang as Podarrek ran for the mountain entry. A dense cloud of smells jarred his senses as he sidled through the crowded street, spiced meats and bakers’ ovens filling the long cavern with a pleasant smog from their arched shops to the side or long spits hanging over cooking pits. Merchant stalls and marble pillars lined the walkway.

Another hint of green ahead, and this time Podarrek caught sight of the woman’s strange mesh suit and pale skin beside the Siivalan. He made for the street they turned down, only to stop dead at the corner.

An Athamein monk stood a few paces ahead, facing him but concealed behind thick, tattered robes. The mountain corridor grew dark, torches flickering along the walls and their light shrinking in on the flames. Shadows crept down the grey and brown stone above, and passersby stopped to look around with a shared sense of confused dismay. One merchant kept walking toward Podarrek and stepped right through the monk, the illusion rippling as he passed.

If not for others watching the passing shadow, Podarrek would have thought himself dreaming. The monk vanished, but the Daruman’s dread clamped down on his lungs. He knew he was in no state to fight, not with these shadows playing at his mind.

He slid his left hand over the amber pommel of his sword. A soothing calm passed through his hand and arm, the tension releasing from his muscles and bones the longer he gripped the hilt. He’d always found the citriol crystal a strange source of relief. Its mesmerizing folds of crystal liquid numbed his senses and pulled him in like a dream.

The shadows receded, and the crowd took a few slow, careful steps before going about their business as though nothing had happened. It amazed Podarrek how the dark forces of this world passed so easily in and out of people’s awareness. He thought about his murderous vocation, and he wished for a fleeting moment that there was a better way, a way to fight evil able to erase itself from its victims’ minds like a passing nightmare.

But then he remembered Marrgolen, bloodied in the halls of his father’s castle, and all thoughts of mercy disappeared.

Back to his familiar cool resolve, Podarrek set off once more, this time unable to make out his unusual passengers in the crowd. He checked every shop and stall as he passed, but the pair were long gone. They’d either missed the passing malevolence or used the opportunity to slip away.

He reached the street’s end, where a new archway opened to a platform overlooking the ocean. A faint impression from Malzang prickled his senses as he looked out. The feeling was electric and jarring, no more familiar now than when Podarrek first drank the man’s blood. He looked right, giving into the impression and letting his master guide his movement.

The impression led him down a dark alley between the mountain and some of Sauvande’s higher buildings, their ancient marble stained almost black with soot. Eventually, the alley ended at a wide turn, a rusted railing protruding from the mountain in a crescent to overlook one of Sauvande’s rare parks. Crooked trees grew up from patches of dirt and dead grass, their long trunks crawling up the mountain like vines and overshadowing the stone walkways and benches below.

Podarrek heard strained voices echoing off the mountain. He could see the Siivalan across the park, and Alessa’s strange accent rose from behind a tree in a questioning, accusatory tirade he couldn’t make out. A figure stepped out toward them, a rippling navy cloak gliding across the stone path as Podarrek’s vision blurred.

The Daruman lurched over the railing. His mind felt on fire. Malzang’s presence erupted in a frenzy of shocks down Podarrek’s spine as his master wrestled for control.

A moment later, Podarrek watched from within as his body leapt over the railing, sword drawn and eyes locked on the newcomer. A lesser man would have cracked bones from the fall, but Podarrek hardly felt the landing. Malzang’s gifts rushed up within him, their heightened connection coursing through his body with energy and strength.

Podarrek sprinted for the cloaked figure, his long strides covering the distance in seconds. The figure began to turn. Podarrek ducked right before planting one foot on a nearby trunk and leaping for the newcomer with a wide swipe of his sword.

The attack cut through empty air. Podarrek had never seen such a perfect dodge. The figure swerved below the blade with fluid grace and a flick of his wrist, his fingers flashing red before a longsword rose to meet Podarrek’s. The blades were almost a mirror image of one another. A pointed ruby replaced Podarrek’s round citriol pommel. Black and silver serpents shaped the crossguard in place of Podarrek’s black dragons. And a smoky topaz-like substance formed the blade instead of Podarrek’s Daruman steel, with its swirling blacks and etched silver. But the craftsmanship was unmistakable, a Daruman longsword of the highest order.

“Where—”

His question cut short as Malzang took back control. Their swords met in the middle with a sharp clang, and Podarrek resigned himself to the fight ahead. He took a deep breath and became one with his master’s destructive intent. If the cloaked figure wanted to bear a Daruman blade, he’d have to earn it.

The Daruman lunged forward, thrusting two quick stabs at the man’s heart that he pushed aside with quick parries. The sword’s weight pulled down on Podarrek’s outstretched arms, forcing him to pivot into a parry as the man closed in with a relentless flurry of overhead strikes. The figure was a worthy opponent, but any respect he felt was eclipsed by Malzang’s rage erupting like a geyser in his mind.

He saw the man’s military jacket under his cloak and began to understand. So this is the Cereman. He studied his opponent with renewed interest, taking slow steps to the side while holding a wide guard.

The Cereman slowed, flourishing his blade while piercing Podarrek with a gaze both stern and curious. His sapphire eyes shone with unnatural light, reflecting off the sides of his hood like sunlight striking a rippling pond. For a moment, Podarrek felt Malzang fade within him as though retreating from that powerful stare.

The crystal longsword started glowing. Two tendrils of yellow flame reached out from the serpent crossguard and crawled up and down the blade’s sides.

“Hello, Malzang.”

Podarrek stepped back, and Malzang’s presence disappeared.

The Cereman smirked just as Elaryn Deldraea leapt down from a tree to their left, zarakas blade drawn and just barely missing the man’s head. She rolled aside, lashing out with an attempt to slice out the man’s legs, but he stepped beyond her range with the same fluid grace and braced with his longsword between both attackers.

“Stop!” yelled Seddram, but it was too late.

The Selvan heiress attacked the Cereman with mindless savagery, a barrage of jarring strikes devoid of technique or constraint, her face contorted in a monstrous snarl.

The sight terrified Podarrek to his core. He’d seen the dark possession before, the look of an Athamein host fully subdued by the draemeir strains they relied on for power. But this was different. This was Malzang, his master’s hate and dark will somehow recognizable behind Elaryn’s twisted glare.

Podarrek’s shock gave way to rage as his master snapped back control of his body. He stood helpless within himself as Malzang threw him into the fray, strike after strike from both Zerakiim assassins barely pushing the Cereman back. Seddram and Alessa stood off to the side with blank, confused stares.

The Cereman was a master of the sword. He moved with cool, calculating precision, a calm elegance to every motion that turned the Zerakiims’ shared rage against itself. Podarrek brought down a fierce overhead strike, missing the Cereman’s longsword and nearly knocking Elaryn’s blade from her grip. The Cereman responded by unleashing an underhand swipe that slammed into the flat of Podarrek’s sword with a spray of sparks between them. His hands shook from the strain. Even with his master’s gifts, he wasn’t sure how long he could hold out against such a foe.

Elaryn leapt for the Cereman, this time with speed and technique more befitting a Zerakiim. Their battle became a dance, her zarakas blade twirling in her hands as she turned one lunge into a backhand strike and spun into a horizontal slash. She parried a stab from the Cereman and locked their blades between them.

Podarrek saw the opportunity and slashed with all his might for the Cereman’s back. The Cereman rolled into a duck, lifting his sword with Elaryn’s so the Daruman’s longsword slammed into both and threw Elaryn back. She rolled across the cobblestone path and steadied herself with a flourish.

The Cereman kept his eyes locked on the heiress, but he raised one palm toward Podarrek. Podarrek knew what was coming but had no chance to guard. He flew back and crashed into the nearest tree, dead branches and large brown seeds raining down on his head as he fell to his knees. His master’s presence shrank once more as dizziness blurred his view of the battle. He watched from beside the tree in a daze, a strange calm washing over his senses as the combatants resumed their dance.

Elaryn was clearly outmatched. The Cereman let her advance, leading her forward with half-hearted parries and edging her out of range with firm but slow attacks. He seemed almost entertained by her ferocity, a slight grin playing at his features while their master’s savagery contorted hers.

The Cereman struck out, hard and fast. His glowing sword came down with such strength that Elaryn lurched forward onto her hands and knees. Her adversary kicked away her zarakas blade, then flicked his wrist and sent her flying into Seddram and Alessa with a shockwave of clear energy.

The Cereman gave a knowing nod to Seddram, and the Siivalan restrained a thrashing Elaryn in his arms while Alessa rose to her feet. She looked ready to scream but closed her mouth and stared as Elaryn’s zarakas blade rose off the ground and floated into the Cereman’s hand.

The blade flashed red and another shockwave erupted from its length. The energy threw dust in Podarrek’s eyes and nearly pinned him once more against the tree behind him. When he looked up, the Cereman was gone.

“Let go of me!” yelled Elaryn.

Seddram readily complied, with just a hint of mirth. He spread his hands in a gesture pleading mercy as Elaryn jumped up and brushed dust off her gear, fuming. She looked from side to side as though lost, then spotted her sword where the Cereman had been and stormed over.

“How do you feel?” asked Podarrek, rising slowly and making his way over.

She eyed him, furious.

“I don’t even know how I got here,” said Elaryn. “I saw the battle, in bits and pieces, but it wasn’t me. What the scheth just happened to us? You looked like… like one of them.”

Podarrek hadn’t considered that his own features must have looked as twisted by their master’s rage as hers had been.

Alessa stepped closer.

“I’m so sorry.”

The woman aimed her metal pistol at Elaryn and fired.

Blue flashed out in a thin beam just as Podarrek did something he’d sworn to never do again. He summoned the dark strain within him, feeling the draemeir’s malevolence well up like an oozing slime in his veins as his consciousness emptied. His awareness stretched out in an invisible sphere, a sickening calm like a fever overtaking his mind.

The draemeir sphere cut through the beam, but not before Elaryn was thrown back, landing hard and gasping in shock. Sickly black smoke, hissing air, and thick, black blood leaked from a charred hole in her chest.

Chapter 47
Fall from Grace

Sevora Embraya sat in stunned silence outside the tribunal hall in Mobrid.

She’d been so sure of the days ahead, ready to prove her mettle on the field of battle, and ready to get revenge for Dain. She’d never imagined the battle would find her first, let alone kill most of her command in their first skirmish.

She couldn’t have known. The dragons had never attacked the heartwoods. In all their battles along the Selvan border, and in all their nest-clearing in the Savolor mountains, their company had never seen a dragon fly within a mile of the rubelines.

Not until their return journey from Kartumol.

She blamed the knights. Falcen and Daggen had testified on her behalf, but their word carried little weight here. And that small gesture did nothing for the lives they’d put at risk. By fixating on the Kanarian heiress, by trying to track her with their mysterious technology, they’d invited the attention of monsters.

Dragon fire was still burning at the site of their first attack, and the company had faced more than just dragons in the days that followed.

She’d been the first to spot what looked like floating red eyes stalking them through the forest. Soon there were at least a dozen pairs, red and orange like floating embers, glaring from a bed of black mist. The trees to either side sickened as the mist passed as though splashed with tar and soot, shadows swallowing the day even with sunlight streaming in through the canopy above. The prowling darkness closed in as they journeyed south.

She lost three more soldiers that first night. Ethereal beasts thrashed out in a frenzied rage, giant wolves of mist and shadow that caught scouts and stragglers who strayed from the group. They never found the bodies.

The knights sat on another bench to Sevora’s right, equally stunned by the horrors they’d witnessed. She’d seen the knights unleash power she could only dream of, cutting and blasting their way through a swarm of dragons with ease. But their weapons had proved useless against foes of mist and shadow, their shields faltering at the slightest touch from the dark fog and their armor sparking and disfigured from countless dents and gashes.

“You’re free to go.”

Sevora’s mother stood in the doorway. She glanced down at the knights with regret, as though she were reluctant to let them leave. They nodded, then followed an escort back to their quarters in Upper Mobrid.

“Such a lost opportunity,” said Breddel once they were alone. “You’ve lost your captaincy, of course, but without note of dishonor. You’re to be stationed here in Mobrid indefinitely while I seek out a more suitable posting on your behalf.”

Sevora had expected worse, so she kept quiet. Inside, she was seething. The injustice made her want to slam the wall with her first.

Her mother left without another word, and Sevora set off after the knights. They’d gotten her into this mess, and now they’d get her out of it. They owed her that much, and then some.

The crowds strutting through the lower streets parted with startled mumbles as she pushed her way through to the closest stairway. She took the winding stairs two at a time, stomping past anyone unlucky enough to be in her way. Her grip shook the rail to her right and sent a cascade of gold-trimmed leaves down on the streets below. By the time she reached the domed home granted to the strangers, she was panting with her hands on her knees and her messy black hair falling over her eyes.

The soldier standing guard at the doorway looked torn between amusement and fear when he saw her. Fear won out as Sevora righted herself and glared at the man. Then, ignoring him completely, she pulled a small mirror from a satchel at her side and began fixing her hair, only now noticing soot still staining her olive cheeks from the journey back. She went crimson, turning away and wiping furiously, which made her face flush even worse.

Her task complete, she returned her mirror to her satchel and steadied herself with what poise she could muster. These knights needed to know they were hers now.

Sevora slammed through the doorway and stormed through the house until she found her prey. The knights were standing in a corner, mumbling to each other while watching their commander struggle for breath in the next room. Maldeem looked worse than ever. He was sweating and thrashing about from under thick blankets, two women trying in vain to keep him still from either side of the bed. Citriol lamps flickered overhead.

Sevora let one hand rest on her korossa for comfort and approached the knights.

“How is he?” she asked.

“I’ve never seen a strain like this,” said Falcen. “A draemeir infection should have killed him by now, like it did Marsa. Or worse, taken hold.”

“You mean take control,” said Sevora. She thought back with a shudder to the Selvans who’d turned on their own during the ambush that almost claimed her sister’s life. She hoped Mella was faring better than she was, though she was also glad her sister hadn’t been there to witness her failures.

Falcen nodded, looking back at the commander with open dread. “We should hope for the former. You’ve seen what we can do. Imagine that power in the hands of such evil.”

“By all rights, he should be dead already,” said Daggen. “This strain is attacking his body faster than it can root itself in his system, except something is holding it back.”

“Something about this place weakens the strains,” said Falcen. “It might even explain why your people are immune. You said the dragons never attacked before now. This could be why, and why they only attacked once threatened by our search.”

“So now you’ve put my people in danger,” said Sevora. “All for some hair-brained quest to kill a little girl.”

Daggen turned on her with his hand on the black rod at his belt.

“A quest you were more than willing to join, as I recall, if it meant—”

Falcen cut him off with a wave.

“What can we do for you?”

“I want you to help me win a war,” said Sevora.

She spent the next hour convincing the knights to join the Siivalan cause. Valdaris Drascar was far beyond their reach, her sister and the Selvan nobles had proved impossible to track without inviting disaster, and the knights could do little to fight the coming evils from within her people’s heartwoods.

Valdaris claimed to fight the draemeir, but her people seemed to have a real cure. If they fell, so would any chance of finding a lasting solution to the dark plague these Ambrovians came back to stop. War with Naemredd, a nation now ruled by cultists under draemeir influence, was as much a threat to Siivala as to Selvar. Her people would be thrown on the front lines while the Selvans watched and strategized, and both would be left vulnerable to dragons and invaders alike.

She was almost surprised when they agreed, and Sevora left before they could change their minds. She found herself giddy, despite all that had happened, resisting the urge to skip her way back to the matrons’ villa where her mother was staying. She’d win back favor and prestige overnight: the kossa master who turned the tides of war with unstoppable soldiers at her side.

The villa was built over two platforms, a red resin palace suspended between four blackwoods. Its hall and towers glowed an eerie mix of amber and red in the waning sunlight. For a moment, Sevora was reminded of the glowing eyes shining out of the trees, the darkness that she could feel stalking her still. She stopped, not even chilling energy from her korossa making her want to take another step.

Eventually, she shook off the feeling and remembered why she was there. Her mother had put so much in place to make her captain, sacrificed so much over the years to earn the opportunity her daughter had squandered in a day. She meant to set things right.

She pushed open the paneled door, entering the floating gardens that were usually full of gossiping matrons and passing servants at this time of day. Trees and clusters of flowers rustled in the wind. Fountains gurgled to either side of the central path winding toward the main hall. She shrugged off the silence and returning unease, marching toward the hall with loud stomps to defy the lurking shadow in her mind.

She shoved open the door, and the main gate slammed across the park behind her. She began to turn when an invisible force hurled her into the main hall. A hooded Athamein monk stood over her with his palm down a few feet over her head. She tried to move, and the air shuddered between them, but suddenly a new wave of force crashed down on every part of her, pinning her in place.

A dozen monks rose from high-backed chairs around the central table. From the table’s head, her mother stepped forward and approached Sevora without a glance.

“Take her to the Pallados sanctuary,” said Breddel. “There may still be time to fix this.”

The monk above Sevora pulled a stone orb from his robe, an etched sphere with a seam through the middle. Before she could cry out, the room spun. Colors flashed from bright red to teal blue, giving way to dark browns and greys as her back hit solid stone beneath her.

She wanted to hurl. The monk grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up, pain shooting through her nerves as she fought back to no avail. A second monk restrained her free arm before she could free her korossa.

The pair led her down a stone hallway lined with glowing turquoise orbs, like ghostly opposites to her homeland’s citriol lanterns and torches. Just looking into the swirling blues and greens made her want to lurch. Her head felt dizzy, still spinning from whatever magic that orb had released.

She’d fought in worse states.

“When I get free, I’ll cut you to pieces.”

The monks ignored her, pulling her along as she kicked out with her legs. She stopped when she saw what was coming.

The hall widened, lit from above by larger turquoise orbs and by torch-bowls on stands to either side. Monks stood between the stands, eyes gleaming beneath their hoods and most of their mouths curled in malicious smiles.

At the end of the hall, the path gave way to what looked like a giant pit. To her eyes it was a stone well, a vast cylinder of enormous bricks, with more turquoise orbs fixed in the stone up and down as far as her eyes could see.

She heard hissing from below, somehow sharper than a snake’s, like sparks from a lit fuse. The monks carried her to the pit’s edge, and now she fought with all she had. The first monk hadn’t expected the sudden struggle and fell into the pit with an endless scream, silenced only by distance as his body vanished into the void.

She drew her korossa with her newly freed hand, slashing up the other monk’s chest as the blade came loose. Her next cut opened a vein in his throat, but the victory was short-lived. The remaining monks raised their palms, and she braced with her korossa as a wall of rippling, clear energy flew toward her.

She’d hoped for a better end.

Chapter 48
Smugglers’ Cache

Podarrek’s fury made his sphere falter. His attention collapsed, the field of awareness retreating into his mind just as Alessa turned her gun on him. He twisted his wrist in time to catch a ringing blue beam on the flat of his blade. The shock to his arms glanced off his mind, instinct and anger fixing him in place. His master’s rage gave way to his own as he prepared to unleash every terrible power the Athamein had taught him on this traitorous woman.

“Stop!”

The captain yelled with a frantic pitch but jumped forward, as though he knew full well neither combatant would hear his plea.

Silver flashed at his wrist. He spun and swept up with his arms, a fierce korossa filling his hand as he sliced through Alessa’s weapon. Metal skipped across the stone path and Alessa yelped, tossing the weapon’s other half aside. Blue sparks sprayed and fizzled from the pistol’s broken barrel.

Podarrek tightened his grip, ready to follow through on his attack. Alessa stared down at her weapon in shock, but he’d learned long ago that an unarmed target was rarely helpless. He’d give her no quarter for what she’d done.

“Stop!”

Seddram leveled his korossa at Podarrek’s chest, but his eyes were locked on the dying heiress. Elaryn wouldn’t last long. The captain seemed to hesitate, cocking his head as though listening, before stepping over to Elaryn. Her eyes were closed, only the faintest movements in her chest and legs indicating she was still alive. Podarrek’s mind flashed back to Marrgolen’s mangled body during the siege of the Vistandel castle — even her wounds hadn’t been this severe, and she’d died on impact. Podarrek had no illusions of their master’s gifts somehow sparing the Deldraean.

Seddram raised his korossa to his hand and sliced the edge of his palm. He lifted the cut above Elaryn’s gaping wound and let drops of blood fall to mingle with her own. Podarrek stood, silent, not knowing what to expect. The horrific moment lingered. Nothing happened.

“He says you have a gel that will help,” said Seddram, still focused on Elaryn.

“Are you sure?” said Alessa. “You saw the possession. They’re both gone.”

Seddram didn’t answer, and blood continued to pool in the wound below.

“Fine,” said Alessa. “But whatever harm they do from this day forward is on us.”

“True of any life we save,” said Seddram.

Alessa made her way over, taking a wide path and pretending to ignore Podarrek as he eyed her, daring her to try something else. He wanted nothing more than to cut her down where she stood, but he let his sword fall to his side.

The woman pulled a metal tube from her belt and pressed down with her thumb. The strange object lit up, red light racing up the metal surface and collecting at one end of the tube. She knelt by Elaryn and held the tube over the wound, and after a few seconds a thin stream of clear, blue liquid began pouring out from the light. The dense liquid slid over Elaryn’s charred flesh, slowly collecting until a thick film covered the hole in her chest.

Alessa looked back at Seddram, pleading with her eyes, but the captain stared past her without responding.

Podarrek wanted to throttle the woman for her hesitation. But as he rehearsed rebukes and imagined how he’d strike back at his new enemy, all thoughts of her and the wounded heiress vanished from his mind.

He sensed the threat before he even began to turn. He saw the monk first, that same tattered robe hiding the man’s face as he stared down on the park from a nearby rooftop. The air around the monk shuddered like a mirage, but Podarrek knew better than to doubt a projection’s power. For now, he was more worried about another presence closing in.

Two monks turned a corner at the park entrance.

“We’ve got company,” said Podarrek.

Seddram knelt beside Alessa, who’d pulled a black rod from her belt and used it to aim a thin beam of red light at Elaryn’s chest. The gel seemed to collect the light, pulsing bright red and sinking into the skin and blood beneath.

“Don’t stop,” said Seddram.

He stood and turned his korossa on the monks. The captain braced, both hands tight around the sword’s curved hilt and wearing an expression of explosive rage the Daruman wouldn’t have credited him for. He looked like a man who’d bottled pain and inaction long enough to drive anyone mad.

“Careful,” said Podarrek. “You don’t know—”

To the Daruman’s amazement, a sphere of energy flew out from Seddram’s core, a wall of rippling power in every direction that dizzied Podarrek’s mind as it passed. He barely kept control of his senses, lowering his center and letting his own sphere ripple out as the monks closed in. They seemed equally shocked by the captain’s power, barely extending their own spheres in time to catch the attack. The air shook between them and the stone path cracked in small eruptions of debris where the four spheres collided.

Seddram raised his sword and slashed at the air. The edge of his sphere slammed into the monks, breaking their focus and throwing them to the ground. Before they could respond, he pointed his korossa at one of the monks and the blade shimmered with blue energy.

The monk’s body was ripped off the ground and flew toward Seddram, who twisted his blade and slashed the monk through the middle as he passed. The body crashed beside Alessa as she continued her work.

The second monk remained still, and Podarrek cautiously lowered his weapon before remembering the projection above. He looked to the rooftop just as the illusion’s hand lifted, silvery light dancing in a sphere between the monk’s finger and thumb.

“I hope you’re good with that sword,” said the captain.

Podarrek turned, jaw open and face stuck between awe and a smirk, when half a dozen mercenaries entered the park from opposite walkways.

“He’s controlling them,” said Podarrek, nodding to the rooftop.

“Keep your sphere open, or he’ll control you too,” said Seddram.

“Shouldn’t I be telling you—”

Podarrek cut himself off as the mercenaries closed the distance. Two charged with swords while a third raised a pistol and fired. Questions would have to wait, and Podarrek had plenty.

He caught the first bullet with ease, feeling the lead’s smooth surface enter his awareness and letting his consciousness sink into every crevice, every flaw in the dense projectile. His mind felt free, whole, the world itself condensed into this tiny space and his to control.

He hurled the bullet back at the mercenary and watched it tear through the man’s chest. Two more pistols fired wide, their wielders distracted by their comrade falling dead beside them.

Seddram was already engaging the men with swords, dancing between them with slow, precise steps and clean swipes that severed one man’s sword-arm and another’s head clean off his body.

Podarrek wasn’t about to let the captain have all the fun. He reached out, grabbing one of the shooters and pulling him across the park with a sharp tug of his mind. The man flew into Podarrek’s longsword, falling dead beside him as the Daruman ripped the sword free.

The remaining attackers charged from both sides, their faces contorted in wicked snarls and their eyes glazed over, all control relinquished to the monk still watching from above. He was trying to overwhelm them.

The ploy might have worked if not for an explosion of raw power from Seddram’s sword. Blue light shot out in a wave, blasting the men closest, setting more than one tree on fire, and leaving streaks of charred black across the stone walls of the closest buildings. The roof where the illusion stood watching collapsed from the force, and bricks from the building’s shattered walls tumbled into the park.

When Podarrek looked again, the monk was gone.

“An Athamein monk able to project himself like that could easily set this whole port on us if he wanted. We need to get out of here.”

Seddram nodded, lowering his sword as he studied the carnage around them. His look of cool satisfaction was unnerving, even to an assassin.

“How did you do that?”

The voice was Elaryn’s. She was sitting up, one hand stretched over the hole in her travel gear to cover herself, and singed fabric the only remaining evidence of the woman’s attack. Podarrek stared, struck dumb at the sight.

Seddram approached one of the monk’s bodies, giving the man a swift kick in the side before pulling off his robe. He returned to Elaryn, conflict playing at his features as he wrapped the robe around her.

“Thank you, captain,” said Elaryn, hugging the fabric around her as she sat there, pale and rocking in place.

“Former captain,” said Seddram, nodding. Whatever conflict he felt seemed to vanish, and he turned back to Podarrek.

“Can you get us back to the docks?”

“We can take smugglers’ tunnels to the lower levels,” said Podarrek. “They’ll be searching for us, but we’ll only have to risk the lower market before we reach the ship. Will she be able to move?”

“I can stand,” said Elaryn. She pushed herself up, shoving Alessa aside with a cold stare as she tried to help. The heiress teetered once standing, however, and Seddram stepped over to offer his arm.

Elaryn looked conflicted now, more surprised than put off, but she took the captain’s arm with a smile. The exchange confused Podarrek, maybe even ignited a jealous spark within. The pair seemed to bury their misgivings and followed Podarrek’s lead.

Alessa took the rear. Podarrek wasn’t sure he trusted her there, but he supposed she wasn’t a threat without a weapon. And if attackers came from behind, he was more than fine with her taking the first hit. She deserved worse.

Podarrek led them through some narrower streets to an unassuming house with an iron gate. The drop site for the key was a few blocks down, past the main cavern entrance and the busier crowds they were trying to avoid, so he risked opening his draemeir sphere to feel through the lock. Their Athamein pursuers would have to be within a few feet to sense such a small burst.

The lock clicked as the main latch slid loose, and the gate screeched on its hinges as Podarrek pushed through. The others followed him past a barely furnished room, the scents of pine, dust, and mold invading their senses. They entered a second room and Podarrek pulled open two panel doors to reveal a small trapdoor concealed within.

“We’ll have to be quick and quiet,” said Podarrek. “I’ve taken more than one monk by surprise using these tunnels, but there’s no knowing whether they’ve sensed them. They run deep, but it would just take one monk standing near the right home above and opening a sphere for them to discover the entire network.”

“We’ll manage,” said Seddram.

Podarrek entered first, climbing down a rusted ladder before helping Elaryn. Seddram and Alessa followed, and Podarrek almost cursed the woman out for forgetting to close the door behind them.

The smugglers’ tunnels were a system of narrow, damp caves with occasional pockets where gangs stored their wares. Malzang’s memories, though faded, gave Podarrek a perfect map through the underground maze, and he led the group through steeper passages down to the port’s lower level. The inclines were dark and treacherous, but the gangs tended to stick to more level caverns and their respective sections of the town. The group passed through unseen.

They came out at a large cave opening to the ocean, waves crashing loudly on the rocks but the sea looking calm farther out. The smugglers had several skiffs stored against the cave wall above the waterline, rough wooden boats hardly worthy of the open water. They just needed to cut around the shoreline to the nearby docks.

The men lowered the boat while Podarrek had the women gather oars, rope, and anything useful they could find in the nearby stash of goods. He had to give Alessa credit for finding a case of aged Siivalan otus, close to a dozen bottles worth a small fortune. Elaryn made her own discovery, stumbling, quite literally, on a small chest. Podarrek felt light-headed and queasy as she approached, and he knew what to expect even before he slipped his awareness into the rusted lock and pried it open with a loud snap.

Selvan gold coins and large gemstones sparkled as the lid came open, but all eyes fell on three small orbs glowing within. The first was citriol, like the pommel of Podarrek’s longsword, and he felt a soothing calm as his hand passed over. But the other two orbs glowed a sickly turquoise, the strange light swirling within the crystals and pulling Podarrek’s focus until he nearly fell into Elaryn.

He closed the lid and placed the chest next to the case of otus in the skiff.

“Azurial,” he said. “Rare, powerful, and extremely dangerous. The draemeir feed off its energy and nest in clusters wherever it’s found. Many a Daruman has died or gone mad after mining it.”

“I’ve seen it before,” said Elaryn. “Valdaris… the korossa he took in Mindan had a hilt laced with azurial. It glowed at his touch.”

Podarrek’s eyes went wide.

“Can it be used to track them? The draemeir, I mean,” asked Seddram. He spoke as though he knew the answer, but Podarrek had never heard such a thing.

“Be glad a weapon like that is far from your people,” said Podarrek. “It’s a wonder it even exists, if true.”

“He still had it after Kartumol,” said Elaryn. “I didn’t see it with him here though.”

“If he’s wise, he’s hidden it, or thrown it into the ocean,” said Podarrek. He looked at Seddram, hoping the captain would divulge more, but Seddram lowered himself into the skiff and helped Elaryn after him.

“You take the head,” said Podarrek, settling near the rear while Alessa struggled to find her footing. She landed hard on the wooden seat and tipped the boat against the rocks.

Podarrek ignored her, taking one of the oars and helping to steer as Seddram rowed them out.

“Keep the oars out so we don’t draw attention,” said Podarrek. “But I’ll handle it from here.”

He closed his eyes, letting his awareness sink and meld into a loose tapestry of senses. The sound of gulls above and the splashing waves, the smell of saltwater, the texture of the wood and the cool water below… his whole consciousness pulled on the world around him and melded the experience into a sphere of energy pulsing out from his body. He settled his mind in the splintering wood of the skiff’s back, then pushed out on the water behind them.

The skiff lurched forward, catching Seddram in a splash of cold water. He stared back at Podarrek, too amazed to be angry, before using his own sphere to press the water from his clothes and hair. He was dry in seconds.

“You learn fast,” said Podarrek.

Seddram gave a knowing look and smiled. The women glanced back and forth between them, Elaryn looking more impressed than shocked and Alessa wearing an expression closer to dread.

They skipped across the water, sticking close to the cliffs until the bustling harbor came into view. They only had to pass a few frigates and smaller ships to reach the brig. Most of the crews ignored them as they passed, and none seemed to notice their unnatural speed.

Podarrek let the others climb the ship’s ladder, passing the otus and treasure up behind them. He pushed the skiff over to the dock and tied it off, then pulled himself up and walked up the gangplank.

By the look of it, most of the crew had returned, and he sent out some men to call back the rest. The ship looked otherwise ready to depart, and he could feel the Order’s lackeys probing the port, still trying to find them. He gave a few final orders as the remaining crew arrived with an assortment of new cargo, empty boxes, and brimming paychests, then approached his passengers gathered by the quarterdeck.

He pointed to Alessa.

“Men, throw this woman in the hold.”

Chapter 49
Visions of Power

Alessa couldn’t blame them for locking her away.

She envied their ignorance. She envied a time when possession wasn’t a death sentence, when protecting Ambrove hadn’t meant destroying any trace of the draemeir they could find. She’d seen so much death, but she’d never pulled the trigger on someone she knew. Until now, she hadn’t known if she’d be strong enough.

Podarrek’s men threw her in a small cell below deck. She was glad to be away from the ship’s captain after what she’d seen in the park. She’d never encountered such malevolence on a human face — a monster, even a dragon, would have been less terrifying.

She sat in the damp, her back against the ship’s hull, and wondered if that would happen to her. For all she knew, the Gildramor could take hold of her at any moment, and the more the strain grew inside her, the less she’d be able to resist.

Ambrove had known for years that the Gildramor was responsible for the gold strains and could manipulate hosts to do his bidding. But they’d never considered that other draemeir strains could be controlled by humans. There’d always been hints of will and strategy to the evil unleashed by the draemeir. But there was chaos, too, unpredictable and unimaginably destructive. Varsema’s best scientists were convinced the draemeir weren’t fully conscious — Ambrove’s last real advantage. But if someone like this “Malzang” could control followers from afar, their only advantage had been an illusion.

Alessa curled her knees to her chest, staring through the rusted iron bars of her cell and wondering how many centuries, millennia even, her people had been fighting this evil in vain.

She sat for what felt like hours, lost in thought and drifting in and out of dreams of home. The ship rocked back and forth on the waves, the rise and fall growing steeper over time. She could hear rain dribbling on the deck above.

An overwhelming calm overtook her as she closed her eyes, a sinking feeling that pressed her body against the wood behind her. Her breaths grew deep and long, matching the up and down of the ship. Visions played at her mind, tangled images of strange worlds she’d never seen. Her mind felt alive with light and endless color.

The visions merged, and she found herself suspended above a pillar of stone. A storm raged in every direction, torrential rain lit by countless streaks of lightning as thunder boomed overhead.

The Gildramor appeared to her right, soaring between rock spires and ancient ruins overrun by vines and twisted trees. He pulled himself through the air, rippling energy running in clear lines between his hands and the pillars above, flying like a basilica knight with his majestic navy cloak trailing behind.

A giant red dragon crashed through one of the pillars. Rocks showered down on the ruins below and barely missed the Gildramor as he fled deeper into the maze. The dragon tried to right itself but clipped the spire below Alessa, spinning downward in a heap of scales, flesh, and rock. The creature landed in the rubble below, thrashing about in a frenzy.

The Gildramor stepped out from between two pillars ahead, just a few paces from the dragon’s fearsome jaws. Alessa held her breath.

Zarah raised his hand, hood down and sapphire eyes locked on the beast as the downpour soaked through his long hair. Strands of gold light and energy appeared around the dragon’s body, coiling around its limbs and pulling its long neck down so Zarah could look it in the eyes. His sword appeared beside him in a flash of red light.

Alessa wanted to turn away but couldn’t. But as Zarah came closer, he lifted the flat of his blade to a foot above the dragon’s snout. Gold light from its fiery edge reflected off ruby scales. Strands of white fire, like flames from a candle stretched thin, crawled out from the blade’s edges and began dancing across the dragon’s body.

The dragon’s fury erupted into frantic roars and clawing, but the strands of gold energy pinned it to the ground. The mysterious fire continued its work, sinking into the dragon’s flesh without any sign of burn or damage. Alessa watched, confused and mystified.

The dragon grew still, its muscles relaxing beneath its restraints. As Alessa watched the beast breathe what looked like a sigh of relief, a rush of sensations filled her mind. A cascade of instinct and destructive hunger overwhelmed her, the deepest freedom she’d ever felt contrasted with an unquenchable thirst for violence. And for just a moment, she looked out through the monster’s eyes, seeing the rubble and rocks and rain as a blurred mess of light and heat, a pulsing vision of radiant color eclipsed by the sight of the Gildamor staring down on her with cool resolve.

The vision disappeared.

She sat with her back still to the hull, still taking deep breaths as the tensions of a lifetime left her body. Her mind felt newly freed, as though a massive weight had lifted from her shoulders.

She would have happily remained against that hull for hours more, savoring the moment, if not for a lurking shadow in the back of her mind. No, not in her mind. Behind. She turned, seeing only the thick wooden hull, and reached out.

She could feel the ocean water raging outside the ship, each crashing wave pulling her senses in a dozen directions. An enormous shape slammed into the hull.

Alessa scurried back, crawling with all the speed her stiff legs could muster until she was pressed against iron bars. She reached out again, her awareness filling the space around her until it pushed through the hull. The creature sensed her presence and lunged forward. Dead, black eyes stared through the water and rows of serrated teeth the size of fingers opened wide to crush through the hull.

Gunshots snapped above just as someone kicked the bars behind her.

“Do you mind?” said Podarrek. “The last thing we need is kayrion sharks taking chunks out of the hull.”

The ship’s captain loomed over her, with Elaryn standing beside him. The Selvan gripped the metal rod at her belt, rightly wary of the woman who’d put a hole in her chest. At least she still had no idea just how powerful a weapon she was carrying at her hip, though it was a wonder these gunpowder primitives could even activate the blades.

“I want to know what you did to me,” said Elaryn. “Seddram won’t tell me, but you might. Whatever you did broke my link to the Zerakiim.”

Alessa stared back.

“You can tell us, or die in this cell,” said Podarrek. “My master seems to favor the latter.”

Alessa could feel a change in the woman, a sense of energy and jumbled thought passing between them. More curious than compliant, she tapped at her wristband. Her display opened across her eyes, red light pulsing over the captain’s body in the familiar patterns of a draemeir host. To her amazement, more than one strain battled within him. Her sensors showed a war for control ravaging every cell in his body. She’d never heard of two strains competing in the same host, let alone seen someone withstand such damage without a sign to show for it.

As for Elaryn, where she’d flashed red when they first met, she now lit gold with the enhanced strains of the Gildramor.

“Impossible,” said Alessa.

“What do you see?” asked Elaryn.

“He replaced one strain with another,” said Alessa. “The transformation should have killed you.”

“You mean the draemeir can be removed?” asked Podarrek.

“Or at least replaced,” said Alessa. She thought about her own growing fears. “You’d be replacing one master with another.”

“An easy choice after what happened at Sauvande,” said Podarrek. “You saw Seddram’s power.”

Alessa locked eyes with the captain. She didn’t think lust for power was a sound basis for surrender to the Gildramor’s will. She’d have to watch this two-strained host in the days ahead, especially with her future so squarely in his hands.

“And Malzang lied to us,” said Elaryn. “We were supposed to be fighting the possessed, not joining them.”

Alessa wasn’t sure they were any better off. She knew Zarah was trying to fight back, however brutal his methods. But those he infected were called gilden slaves for a reason. She didn’t feel like a slave, but how could she know that would last? How could she know she was any different from the man and woman outside her cell, dangling on the strings of a madman, believing herself in control while serving yet another false cause?

Podarrek knelt and looked Alessa in the eyes.

“I want what you have.”

Chapter 50
Storm’s Wrath

Melladar stood on the deck, letting the rain soak through her hair and clothes. She’d always found the rain comforting, even now when it threatened her footing with every turn of the ship.

She was more worried about the ocean, or should have been. She’d never been out to sea, but she’d heard enough. And what she’d heard hadn’t come close — the vast expanse of open water was mysterious and treacherous, humbling to behold. Yet even in the growing storm, with waves crashing against the ship from all directions, Mella felt a strange kinship with the water. She could feel the power and grace of currents beneath the surface, the endless flowing and churning of waters torn in every direction and still somehow part of a whole.

She felt guilty for the strange sort of dreadful peace the waves brought her. She wanted to be below deck, but her heart was tearing a little more with each passing day as Elzar’s condition worsened. That familiar feeling of something jarred loose inside told her this was all she could expect in life. She’d never dared hope to find someone like the commander, to feel what they felt, without words and going against every rule she knew. And as soon as she’d found him, he’d been taken away. She’d known her world to be cruel, but it somehow always caught her off guard.

She let her gaze drift out over the water, leaning over the rail and ignoring the occasional yell from the sailors telling her to be careful. The sun had been far from setting when the rain began, but black thunderclouds blocked any remaining hint of daylight as far as the eye could see. The rain grew thicker, and she wondered in passing how the crew could navigate through the Palladon’s maze of smaller islands with a blanket of rain covering the horizon.

She heard a faint popping sound, then another, somewhere over the waves. The railing to her right disappeared in a shower of splinters. She stood dazed even as a larger piece of shattered wood sliced across her upper arm.

“All hands brace! Man the—”

The next volley slammed into the hull below, shaking the upper deck and throwing Mella on her back. An ocean wave crashed over the side and pinned her in place.

She felt a strange energy rush up inside her as the water slipped away, falling through new cracks in the deck to the level below. The ship dipped down, forcing Mella to roll next to the ship’s wheel, but she used the momentum to spin and brace, drawing her korossa just as Podarrek’s crew unleashed a return volley of cannonfire into the darkness.

She could see the enemy ship now, a black Selvan frigate nearly twice their size. Navy sails towered above, rippling canopies blending with the stormclouds as the frigate raced across the waves like a blackwood spear. Maroon coats lined the upper deck.

“Muskets!” yelled Mella, but it was too late. Two rows of Selvan sharpshooters fired at once, white smoke hiding their faces as dozens of lead balls cut narrow streaks above the water. Another wave crashed into the brig, and time stopped.

Mella could feel every droplet of white spray flying over the deck. Past the raging water, spinning orbs of death crawled through the air in a long row of dots, each pulsing with flecks of blue light. These glowing traces of Selvan magic grew brighter in her mind as the balls entered her awareness, drops of cool energy racing through her veins as the deadly volley came closer. Her korossa seemed to drink in the energy, turning bright blue before erupting in a shockwave of light and energy. The volley tore into the shockwave but stuck in place, as though the Selvans had fired into a translucent brick wall.

The sound of cannonfire stopped beside her, but Mella hardly noticed the crew staring in wonder at the floating projectiles. The energy inside her caught in her chest, then released with such force that she screamed out into the night. The balls shot back over the ocean, tearing lines of rippling heat through the air. More than half the maroon coats fell in bursts of red spray.

The enemy ship was closer now, closing the gap with alarming speed. Podarrek raced to the wheel beside her and evaded as the enemy tried to ram them, then turned back to aim a broadside volley into the enemy hull, but his crew was too slow. The frigate’s nose tore across the opposite deck and rained splinters on the brig’s crew. The ships locked and grappling hooks tore into the deck and rails, followed by a cacophonous roar as dozens of Selvan soldiers jumped down.

This close, Mella hesitated. It was one thing to dream of standing against the Selvans, but no Siivalan had turned their blade on their oppressors in a hundred years. She knew Seddram fought soldiers and civilians alike in Mindan, but his attackers had been crazed, possessed. Here, standing with privateers, she risked the safety of her people. The Selvans needed only the faintest excuse to justify Siivala’s destruction, and every Siivalan grew up waiting for that ominous day.

A Selvan cutlass glanced off her korossa. She stepped left, dodging and deflecting a dozen weak attacks, still unsure how to respond as a Selvan no older than her tried desperately to push her back.

Podarrek’s longsword cut across the Selvan’s throat, and the soldier fell back after a pause. His blank eyes stared up, accusing, another young life cut short before its prime. Mella watched in a daze as the next wave pulled the body off the deck where cannons had destroyed the rails.

“Help us!” yelled Podarrek.

A musket fired to her right.

Mella’s awareness stretched out from her body, not toward her attacker but into the crashing waves below. Her consciousness rushed forward, yanked loose in a dizzying cascade of sensations as the raging sea pulled her in. Her mind slipped across the water, flowing back and forth in the chaos. Energy and calm warred within her, opposing forces playing at her mind for dominance while she spun around and around, her awareness lost at sea while her feet still felt solid wood beneath her.

The vision slowed, and she found herself suspended over the enemy deck. She looked out through a wall of water and spray, and in a brilliant flash of clarity, she felt as though the flow of the world had finally brought her where she was meant to be. Clarity and purpose pulled her into the fray. She pushed forward.

Mella’s feet landed on dark oak as she raised her korossa. A sphere of clear energy flew out from her core, pulling the planks and masts and shrouds of the frigate into her mind like extensions of her own body, hers to control. She slashed out with her korossa. A dozen sharpshooters never saw the wave of energy coming, thrown over the rail and landing hard on the brig’s deck or falling into the churning waters between the ships. Another Selvan turned in time to feel her korossa slash across his chest as Mella charged into the enemy crew.

She didn’t wait for the remaining Selvans to respond. Spray jumped up between the ships, and she let her mind slip into the droplets as they passed in a chaotic flurry. She felt her awareness dive into the ocean, terrifying darkness opening up beneath her and the brig’s keel slicing through the water overhead. Relinquishing all control, she let the current pull her under the ship and up the opposite side.

She could feel the wave, its raw power rising over the ship’s nose and looking down on the terrible battle below. The rushing water overwhelmed her senses with a deep foreboding before the inevitable crash.

She was amazed to see Seddram wielding his korossa, not lost after all, flashes of blue lighting his determined features with each strike. Elaryn Deldraea fought beside him, struggling to keep back half a dozen soldiers with sluggish attacks. She looked sick, a fever flushing her face as she stumbled about.

Mella’s choice came without thought, the water’s flow pushing her forward as she stepped out on the deck and joined the fray. The battle became a dance. Mella’s korossa sang out in the night, clear rings igniting with pulsing strands of blue fire as the sword cut through steel and flesh with ease.

A Selvan in bright armor like the commander’s approached with slow, careful steps. She paused, thinking of Elzar below deck, and the flames dancing along her sword’s edge vanished. The Selvan warrior saw his chance and lunged forward, but Mella almost laughed at his mistake. She didn’t need magic to kill his like.

The flow of battle overtook her.

She deflected the Selvan’s polished, unused blade, following through on the motion with a swipe across his upper arm. Yellow sparks skipped off the bright armor. She twisted, twirling the korossa’s hilt in both hands and deflecting the Selvan’s next strike with a powerful underhand attack. The impact broke his cool resolve and she leapt forward, attacking from above, then slashed his blade to the side and again in the opposite direction. She unleashed a flurry of calculated attacks on his sword, controlling his movements with each jarring blow until his feet nearly slipped off the ship’s edge. He tried to right himself, and Mella slashed his throat.

Everything grew still. The Selvan warrior looked at her in shock, blood flowing from his neck and staining his armor and coat a bright crimson. His legs crumbled beneath him, one of the soldiers leaping for him in vain as the warrior fell into the sea. The soldier watched as the man’s armor pulled him into the depths, the Selvan sharpshooters and crew leaning over the frigate’s railing with shared expressions of horror.

The soldier stood frozen in place a moment longer, then dropped his sword. He knelt, and one by one the remaining Selvans followed his lead.

“Hail Vamira,” said the soldier with his head bowed.

Mella nearly dropped her korossa. Her face went pale.

She’d fought and killed a Maldan lord.

And sure as scheth, there’d be hell to pay.

Chapter 51
Depths of Terror

Rhynwhen didn’t know what everyone was so worried about.

Mister Elzar had a nasty bump on his head, and that was that. She got dizzy too after a good knockabout, and no one had ever put up such a fuss. Besides, Mister Elzar had promised to show her the family lodge. He seemed like the sort of mister who kept his promises.

Still, she sat on a box in the corner while he rested. She wanted to keep him company, and besides, everyone else was acting so funny. Miss Elaryn was all sick and grumpy since she got back from their island trip. Miss Mella was so sad all the time, and the other one, the one in green they used to call captain, always had his face scrunched up like he was thinking about something important.

Rhyn got bored, so she skipped over to Elzar’s bed. He was still asleep. At least she could look out the window. She was glad she got to spend so much time looking at the water. She wanted to play on the deck, but everyone up there was so mean all the time, always bossing each other around.

There was something big in the water today. Yesterday had been a fish day, lots of blues and silvers and golds swimming by. Rhyn wished she could swim that fast. She missed swimming in the mountain lakes, before her trip to the big city.

A big grey fin stuck up through the water and raced by the ship’s side. Rhyn ran for the cabin door, sure she could get a closer look from one of those holes in the ship where the cannons poked out. She stopped, skipping back over to Elzar to say bye, but he was still asleep. She wondered how long he’d be like this.

A strange pop from outside made her remember the big fish. She ran back for the door, but Miss Elaryn was there blocking her way.

“Stay here, Rhyn,” said Elaryn. The always serious Mister Podarrek… what a funny name… he ran by, calling for Miss Elaryn to follow. She closed the door in a hurry, almost stubbing Rhyn’s toe if she hadn’t been smart enough to jump back.

So grumpy, thought Rhyn.

She heard more popping sounds, and soon everyone above started yelling. The cabin walls shook with loud thuds like drums.

Rhyn thought this was just silly. All this ruckus was going to wake Mister Elzar before he was ready.

She set off for the door, ready to give whoever passed by a good piece of her mind.

The lower deck was a mess. Everyone was running about, and the ship’s cannons roared with big puffs of smoke as the crew braced, reloaded, and fired again. Some of the men were lying down, bloody and covered in broken wood or black from fire. For a moment, all Rhyn could think of was all those people in the village where the monsters had been, that terrible day before they’d been trapped in the scary fortress.

Something flashed red across the deck. She thought she saw sparks — red, then blue, then red again.

“Cha’vienne.”

The whole deck turned into a blur, and now Rhyn stood outside the cage where they’d put the strange woman. Rhyn hadn’t heard what she did, but Miss Elaryn said it was bad. Very bad.

“The ship’s under attack,” said Alessa. “I’ll keep you posted.”

She was talking into her wrist. These strangers were silly. Her other hand had something metal pointed at the cage, a little red beam shooting out and making the cage bars glow hot yellow.

“Who’s that?” asked Rhyn.

Alessa snapped her head up, startled.

“My friends, back in the forest city,” she answered after a pause, still working away at the cage.

The lock oozed and caught the wood below on fire as hot metal dripped down. Rhyn stepped back and the strange lady pushed the door open, returning the metal rod to her belt.

“It’s not safe—”

The wall behind her cracked open all the way across the ship. Water sprayed into Rhyn’s eyes and she almost tripped as the whole boat tilted. A cannonball blasted a hole through the wood just above the cracks, more water splashing into the ship as waves crashed over the side.

“Follow me!” yelled Alessa, taking Rhyn’s hand.

The woman yanked her arm and led her back the way she’d come. More holes appeared in the ship as they ran. Splinters and smoke flew through the air. Rhyn wasn’t scared, but this wasn’t how she liked her adventures. She decided then and there that boats were for dummies.

They reached the cabin and Alessa slammed the door behind them, panting as she fell to her knees.

“What’s… what’s happening?”

Mister Elzar was awake now, sitting on the side of the bed but all hunched over like he still wanted to sleep.

“We’re under attack,” said Alessa.

“By who?” asked Elzar.

“I don’t know.”

“Hey, listen!” said Rhyn. “It’s all quiet now, see?”

The guns, and cannons, and clanging, and yelling… it all stopped. Only the waves outside remained, and Rhyn was glad. The world always felt so noisy.

They waited together in silence, but other than a few muffled thuds and sounds of shuffling feet, nothing happened.

“I’ll see what’s happening,” said Alessa.

Rhyn thought maybe she should go so they wouldn’t put the woman back in her cage, but it didn’t have a lock now anyway. Oh well. Miss Alessa was gone before she could say anything.

Rhyn was about to ask Elzar if he wanted to go up too when she felt something bad coming. Not even the monsters in the fortress had felt this bad. And at least they’d been small — people-sized. This was huge, and the closer it got, the more funny voices she heard scratching at her ears like scraping nails on metal.

Something big and long and black splashed up water behind the ship. She saw it coming through the window, slithering like a snake before diving into the deep, dark water.

Mister Elzar was watching now too, holding her close just in time to see a huge, round mouth shoot out of the sea. It was like a snake with no eyes, with a hundred black teeth in a bunch of circles that lunged for the side of the ship. They heard a loud crunch, and people started screaming and yelling up above.

“Run!”

Elzar picked her up just in time. A second mouth crashed through the side of the cabin, tearing through wood and glass and swallowing the deck above. Its huge, black, slimy body wriggled and pushed down on the cabin floor beside them, close enough for Rhyn to touch. She almost did, but Elzar pulled her hand away. The whole ship tilted and they fell back against the cabin floor.

Rhyn yelped, and now she felt scared. Elzar’s bed slid down the floor and twisted into the slimy monster. Gross-smelling smoke fizzed up from the cabin floor and from the bed where it touched the monster’s body.

The ship titled even more, and there was nothing for them to hold. They fell forward together, crashing through the broken window and into the water below.

Chapter 52
Bastard Choices

The water was freezing cold, even though the air above had been so hot. Rhyn thought it was colder than the time she jumped into the mountain lake, so long ago. She’d had parents then, she thought. She couldn’t remember.

Elzar pulled her up, and she kicked as fast and hard as she could. Elzar felt so heavy, and soon she was lifting him more than he was lifting her. It took what felt like forever, but soon she could see the waves above them. Her head hit something hard and she took a gulp of water. The salt made her choke, but Elzar pulled her up onto the big piece of wood floating between them.

She could feel his hand sliding off her arm, and Elzar looked ready to sleep again. She was about to shake him when a big wave crashed into her from behind, ripping her away from the raft.

She didn’t know what to do, but she kept swimming. She liked swimming. She kicked her way back to the surface and looked around. The waves were so big, and it was so dark. She couldn’t see anything. Elzar was gone, and so were the monsters, and the ship.

The next wave caught her from below, but she kept her head above the surface, pushing with her arms and kicking hard. She felt like she was flying. And then she really was flying, most of her body soaring above the water before she splashed back down. She had to kick extra hard to reach the surface again.

When the next wave came, she was more careful. She kicked and pushed, riding the surface as the waves carried her up and down, up and down, over and over.

Lightning flashed above, and off to her right she saw a huge shadow in the clouds before the waves dipped back down. She pushed up with the next wave, and this time she could see the huge, black monsters, their long bodies reaching up out of the water. The surface dipped back down.

She rose on the waves again, and now she saw it. A huge, dark dragon shot a ball of fire straight into one of the monsters’ mouths. Its whole head exploded into flaming pieces. She could see them the next time she rose, floating on the surface like tiny torches off in the distance as a river of fire engulfed the second monster. And back down she went.

That was the last she saw of the monsters, and the dragon too. She kept riding the waves, wondering how long she’d be alone. And cold. And wet. But it wasn’t all bad. She was almost disappointed when the clouds passed overhead and the waves slowed. That was the most fun swimming she’d ever had.

She could see the stars now, and even a few wishing stars raced by like tiny streaks of fire. She remembered that some people could tell where to go by looking at the stars, but not her.

She was still looking up when something touched her foot. She kicked back, sure it was another monster come to get her. Her toes kicked up sand instead.

Rhyn looked down. She tested the sand with her feet, but her legs were so weak that she fell back and covered everything but her head in water.

“You look like you could use a hand.”

Rhyn gasped. She was sure she recognized that voice. And she was glad he was back.

“Hi Mister Vald,” said Rhyn, taking the cloaked figure’s hand and pulling herself up. She had to lean on him to walk, but they didn’t have to go far. The moon was bright, and she could see dry sand up ahead. Big, narrow rocks stuck up from the ground beyond that, like giant pillars as far as she could see.

“I’m glad I found you,” said Valdaris. “Are you alright?”

“I’m tired,” said Rhyn. She felt like yawning but couldn’t. And she was thirsty, too.

She felt something warm under her fingers. Valdaris’s ring was glowing. She started to feel dizzy, but better too, like slipping into a nice dream.

“I think I’ll sleep now,” she said, and she closed her eyes.

She wasn’t sure how long she slept. It was one of those funny sleeps that felt long even though her eyes just closed and opened again, like a quick blink. But now, she was lying in the sand, and the sun was shining.

Valdaris stood a few feet away, tossing his fancy dagger up and down or twirling it in his hand. She liked how the closer she looked, the more it seemed like tiny golden sparkles were dancing up and down the blade like fireflies.

“Ah, you’re awake,” said Valdaris. “I have someone here for you.”

He pointed behind her with his dagger, and Rhyn turned to see Elzar lying face-up on a big wooden plank. His brown hair was white and crusty from the sand and salt, and his usually bronzy skin was pale like the flashy-armored strangers.

“Is he okay?” asked Rhyn.

“I’ll… manage,” said Elzar, coughing softly as he opened his eyes. Rhyn let out a big sigh of relief.

“Hello, commander,” said Valdaris, kneeling beside him.

“How…”

“You don’t have long, commander,” said Valdaris. “If I do nothing, you might live, but your mind will never recover on its own. If there was another way, I’d offer it. If I do help, you’ll never be the same, and you’ll know fear and foes beyond any you’ve faced. A bastard choice, but yours all the same.”

Elzar raised his head just enough to look at Rhyn, and she thought he looked scared. And she thought it had something to do with her. He looked back to Valdaris, then closed his eyes and nodded.

Valdaris pressed one hand down on Elzar’s arm and lowered the dagger. Rhyn stifled a yelp as Valdaris sliced a shallow cut in her cousin’s arm. Then her eyes went wide as she watched those same golden sparkles flow from the dagger’s edge and crawl into the trickle of blood dripping down Elzar’s arm.

At first, nothing happened, and she started to worry. But soon the skin around Elzar’s cut turned yellow and purple, like an awful bruise. The blood on his arm dried, crusty and brown, and little lines of orange and gold raced up under his skin. They vanished behind his sleeve, then crisscrossed all around his neck and flew up into his cheeks and ears and all over his nose and eyes.

And oh boy, his eyes looked scary when they opened again, just for a second, orangey-gold like a wolf. But they turned soft and brown again and Rhyn was a little less worried.

But only a little, because she couldn’t hear him anymore. She could still hear all the others, all those other scratchy voices with their jumbled words, all so worried or scared or angry or confused. And Elzar was like that too, sometimes, always running from the other voices like they were chasing after him. But hearing his little whispers always made her feel safe — he was the kind of mister who was always bigger than the other voices, always stronger. If he could keep going, so could she.

Rhyn hoped he’d feel free now, even if she could never be.

Chapter 53
A Crystal Arsenal

Valdaris Drascar slipped the Chazendur dagger back into its scabbard.

He looked down on his newest creation with a sense of pride, but he also felt a most dreadful relief. For all his planning, all his calculations and foresight, he’d come far too close to losing these precious anomalies, keys to turning the tide in the eternal war — a war he couldn’t afford to lose twice.

The Selvan commander sat up with some difficulty. It was a wonder he had any strength left after so long at sea, and with an injury to the head that would have extinguished the resolve of most. Drascar had chosen well.

The fevers would come and go soon, healing Elzar’s shattered mind and beginning the real task of transforming him, cell by cell, into one of the Chazurii.

He’d spared these few the horrors of his own transformation, but even after millennia, he still wrestled with conflict each time he let his strain take hold. He’d been robbed of the choice to determine his own destiny and knew he was doing the same to others. He told himself again and again that he only spread the strain when absolutely necessary, when his chosen hosts would die without it. But he’d all too often let them fall to the edge of death when he had the power and time to save them without it. In the end, he chose without regret to sacrifice a little of their freedom so they could join him in the light.

There was something reassuring in that the choice had never gotten easier.

“I like your ring,” said Rhyn beside him.

Drascar smiled. He sometimes forgot how much she saw and heard that others could not. The ring’s ruby glowed bright red, his oldest friend manipulating the strain in Elzar’s body with ease while completing another thousand tasks at his behest.

“Me too,” said Drascar.

Rhyn saw a stick a few feet away in the sand and ran over. Drascar smiled, amazed such a person had existed the first time without him knowing. Their greatest hope against evil had lived in his own time, and he’d missed it. She’d likely not even lived this long.

“You know what makes her so powerful, don’t you?” asked Elzar.

“Yes.”

“There’s such a thing as too mysterious, you know,” said Elzar. “I don’t begrudge any man his secrets, but I think for you I’ll make an exception.”

Drascar laughed. Chosen well, indeed.

“I’m not sure we have that kind of time,” he answered. “But you’re right. I can’t explain what I don’t know, even after so long alive. But Rhynwhen… she’s what I’d call a fulcrum. That little girl is a host so full of evil that an entire world of chaos and monsters pivots around her. And yet, by some miracle, her mind is untouched. And not for lack of evil trying to take hold. I can’t explain it, and she may just be the answer I’ve been seeking for five thousand years.”

“Can you save her?”

“She may not need it. And that’s not my way. Her mind is fractured by a thousand dark forces pulling on her in every direction. It’s why she acts so young for a child of nine. But it’s also given her incredible strength, and not just the vocalir power she commands. The strain on her mind has left hardened bonds, pathways that can’t be touched or broken, like calluses of the mind. It may be her who saves us, in the end.”

Drascar’s ring pulsed and images flashed through his mind. He pressed a hand to his forehead.

“Are you okay?” asked Elzar.

“I will be,” said Drascar. “My body is young, but my mind is not. The tension can be… unpleasant. More so than I expected.”

“When you sent yourself the sword, like the woman showed us.”

Drascar nodded.

“Why didn’t you just come back yourself?” asked Elzar. “Like the knights did?”

“Someone had to keep the vortex open from the other side and prevent any monsters from following. Though in truth, I didn’t expect any Ambrovians, like Alessa and the knights, were close enough to come through.”

“So you meant to abandon them?”

“I abandoned trillions,” spat Drascar, loud enough that Rhyn looked up from her drawings in the sand. “And as you saw, I died for them in the process. Died for the chance to start over when I saw there was no other way.”

Elzar narrowed his eyes, pondering the answer in silence.

“Now, I have another gift for you, commander, and then we should find the others. They aren’t far.”

Drascar rose to his feet, and Elzar followed. His balance was off, and Drascar could see hints of sweat trickling down into his sea-stained shirt.

“You’ll need weapons for the battles ahead.”

Drascar held his hand flat over the sand, and the ring pulsed with red light. The ground began to vibrate.

“Hey!” said Rhyn, pouting as the vibrations erased her handiwork.

Strands of white sand rose off the ground like pale tentacles, their particles sparkling in the sun as they twisted and climbed to eye-level. Two strands began spinning and weaving together in a long line, the sand racing back and forth in a spiraling twister. Another strand spread outward, grains of sand stretching out into a flat diamond wider than a man’s chest.

The ruby’s light grew bright enough that Rhyn and Elzar both shielded their eyes. Drascar smiled, watching with anticipation as the floating sand glowed with fiery heat, and the work continued. He used his free hand to loosen the pouch at his belt, and an orb of Chazendur gold flew out and split in two as it approached the glowing sand. Both halves grew bright orange and melded into the fiery display.

Drascar lowered his hand, and spare sand fell away. The ruby dimmed, revealing a sword and shield the likes of which Drascar had never created, rivaled only by his own longsword.

“Yours, if you want them,” he said to the commander.

Elzar hesitated, then approached the floating arsenal.

He took the sword first, grabbing the gold-trimmed hilt by a ribbed leather grip fitted to his hand and pulled the blade free from its black leather scabbard. The blade was clearest crystal, sparkling in an array of colors like pure diamond and ringing as it cut through the air. Elzar stared in wonder. He tested the weight, clearly shocked by the weapon’s grace and balance as he stabbed and parried with calm, careful motions, as though he were afraid the sword would fly free from his hand.

Satisfied, he dropped the scabbard in the sand and stepped over to the shield. Black and gold metal trim lined the edges of a diamond-shaped center, clear and hard as the sword in his hand except for a black handle and leather strap fastened on the shield’s inner face. He slipped his free hand under the strap and held the shield up, staring through its crystal center at the island beyond.

He turned back to Drascar.

“Incredible.”

“I’m glad you approve,” said Drascar.

Rhyn skipped over and held out her hand to touch the shield.

“Careful,” said Drascar, holding up his hand. “The edges are quite sharp.”

Elzar tested an edge with his finger.

“Scheth!” he cursed under his breath before looking up at Drascar.

“The best defense, and all that,” said Drascar.

Elzar scowled, then tried and failed to hide a smirk. He tested the shield with a lunge, stabbing out at the air with its top, swiping across with the side edge, and finishing with a spinning strike from his sword.

“They’ll do.”

“I’d offer new armor as well,” said Drascar. “But I’ll need my strength for what comes next. If you’re half the soldier I think you are, you’ll be fine.”

“Where are we going?” asked Rhyn.

“You tell me, little one,” said Drascar. “You’re the one who brought us here.”

Chapter 54
Pallados Island

Melladar crawled up the beach, panting but surprised by the energy she felt in her veins.

She helped the Selvan beside her out of the water. The soldier collapsed in the sand, barely breathing but alive. Seddram helped two more survivors escape the tide, pulling them with ease and looking just as unaffected by their long night at sea.

“Your korossa?” she asked.

Seth held up his arm in response, smiling as he showed off the markings on his wrist. The silver tree of Siivala glimmered inside a chain circle — she smiled back.

Other survivors splashed their way through the waves in a long line, but far too few had survived the night. They’d been saved from the monsters by that enormous dragon, one she recognized even in the darkness as the creature that had stalked her company since Varessi. But dragon fire had been little help against kayrion sharks. One by one, Selvan soldiers and privateers had gone down thrashing in the night, the water smelling of salt and blood as those remaining fled in panic.

Mella spotted Elaryn and Podarrek in their matching travel gear, both lying on their backs farther down the beach. She turned the other way and saw Alessa climbing up in her skin-tight uniform, paler than usual if that were possible and her black hair turned silvery grey by salt and sand. She knelt over a privateer, holding a black rod over his side as clear liquid dripped into a gruesome gash above his hip.

Mella looked back and forth a few more times before her heart began to race. She’d thought more than once of the commander through the night, delirious and trapped below deck when the ship went down. She’d held onto hope that he’d gotten out, if only to keep despair from sapping her strength when her own chances looked so slim. But now, panic made her legs buckle.

Past Alessa and far down where the beach curved around towering rock formations, something flashed in the sunlight. Another flash, and another, and now the blinding reflections were glaring across her view at a steady pace, like a bright lantern flickering on the horizon.

The tide came in and water slid over her boots. Mella let her awareness drift with the sea’s flow, enjoying the calming power coursing through her in place of the worry and sorrow threatening to overtake her.

Her mind lurched, first out into the deep, then forward farther down the beach. She looked out through the waves in wonder. Elzar, Valdaris, and Rhynwhen walked together just a few feet away.

Mella pushed forward, excitement and joy replacing every thought and feeling until her face planted hard in the sand. Water splashed over her from behind and she choked on salt and grime.

When she looked up, he was there.

Elzar offered his hand and she took it, not quite sure what she was seeing.

“How—”

“Where—”

“I—”

Both stopped as Mella stood, and Elzar looked into her eyes with that same reassuring presence that had drawn her to him. She pulled him close and could have held him there for a lifetime.

“Hi Miss Mella,” said Rhyn, beaming up at her from behind the commander.

Elzar stepped back, and Mella knelt as the child ran into her arms.

“Hello, Rhynwhen.”

She did her best to ignore what was surely coming next. Valdaris watched and waited.

Rhyn stepped away, and tension pulled on Mella’s chest as she forced herself to meet Valdaris’s gaze. She couldn’t find the words.

Footsteps cut her chance short as Seddram and Alessa approached from the right. Elaryn and Podarrek followed close behind. Mella was grateful for the distraction and waited in silence as the others covered the distance. Mella caught Valdaris glaring at the Daruman as though daring him to try something, and she felt relieved he hadn’t given her the same stare. Podarrek was certainly considering some form of action, but his hand slid away from his sword’s hilt as he nodded in cold resignation.

“Can we go now?” asked Rhyn. “I want to see the big cave where all the boats come in.”

“You’ll have to show us, little one,” said Valdaris.

Mella noticed a faint turquoise glow by his side and realized the Mindan korossa was back at his hip. The azurial hilt pulsed at his touch, eerie teal and blue light following his fingertips as they played across the crystal veins. A queasy foreboding skipped across her mind as she studied the sword, but the sounds of waves behind her kept her steady. She let her mind drift with the tide. Any dread she felt floated away with the water, condensed and undone with the ebb and flow of the waves, and what remained came back to her hardened into clear resolve.

And here, on the shores of some unknown island in the Palladons, she finally felt that part of her that had been crooked and loose for so long lock back into place.

“May I?” she asked Valdaris, holding out her hand.

The Cereman cocked his head, sapphire eyes gleaming with curiosity. He nodded, then pulled the long blade free as the others stepped back.

Mella’s hand closed around the hilt, and the sense of flow in her core swept through her arm into the sword itself. Instead of the korossa sending chilling energy through her body like the others, she felt as though the power inside her was feeding into the blade. The taldrine metal went from dark greens and blues to a terrifying black, tendrils of black and purple fire crackling up and down the blade’s sides.

Visions filled her mind. Her awareness swept across the island, past stone pillars and ancient ruins to a range of cliffs protected by jagged rocks sticking up from the sea like cruel spikes. And farther still, her mind came to rest above an enormous cave. Its mouth was hidden behind a protruding bridge of rock between this island and the next. Ships of all sizes were coming in and out of the cave. Mella watched hundreds of soldiers and Athamein monks making their way up and down long docks at the entrance to a terrible fortress of dark grey stone.

Her mind flew past them into the fortress, sweeping through a maze of ominous corridors lit only by azurial orbs fixed in the walls. She spotted flickering red and orange ahead. A wider hallway opened to reveal at least a dozen monks standing between torchbowls set on bronze stands. And there, standing over the bloodied corpse of a monk, was her sister.

“Sevora.”

Her sister looked up, but Mella’s awareness hurled past her into a pit of swirling shadows. Her mind raced into the void, azurial light from above giving way to total darkness.

Malevolence swept into her mind, crashing against the hardened power inside her and thrashing about in a desperate attempt to grab hold. An image of black mist filled her vision. Red eyes glowed above a mane of shadows and a wolf’s snout curled before her in a cruel snarl. She wanted to cower and flee, but the blade’s power pulled her beyond the vision of terror. Past the mist, her mind drifted deeper down, feeling as much as seeing a vile swarm of eyeless eels slithering over and under each other. A thousand voices filled her head, desperate and confused and deafening in their pleas for release.

And then, silence.

Her mind passed through what looked like a thick plate of smoky quartz sealing off the pit’s bottom. On the other side, her awareness stretched out in a massive cavern lit by pools of molten rock. Spikes of taldrine stretched up and down from the cavern floor and ceiling, reflecting molten light in rippling beams of red, orange, teal, and purple.

A figure stepped out from the shadows. His body was shrouded in swirling darkness, but clawed hands and savage fangs raced toward Mella as she caught hints of purple and blue skin in the light.

The vision collapsed, and she was back on the beach looking down on the taldrine korossa. The flames and eerie light were gone.

“This is worse than I thought,” said Valdaris.

“You saw that?” asked Mella. “My sister—”

“We’ll find her,” said Valdaris. “She can hold her own. And our future depends on keeping her alive.”

“What did you see?” asked Podarrek, stepping closer.

Valdaris held out his hand, and Mella returned his korossa without a shred of reluctance. A lifetime evading the depths of evil she’d just faced would be well spent.

Valdaris sheathed the sword and turned to the Daruman.

“A zovakem, among other things,” said Valdaris. “It’s trapped beneath a draemeir cluster, but clearly powerful enough to shield this place from my sight.”

“So that’s what the Athamein are after,” said Podarrek.

“I don’t think they know,” said Valdaris. “They’re using old Chazendur ruins as a base and feeding lives to the cluster. But if they brought Sevora, it means they’re trying again.”

“Trying what?” asked Mella.

“To create another me,” said Valdaris. “One they can control this time. We have to get there before that happens.”

The Cereman paused, looking up at the sky.

“On second thought, we won’t have to.”

Chapter 55
Rise of the Zovah

Sevora braced for a shock that never came.

Rippling energy from the Athamein monks crashed into an invisible wall a foot from her korossa. The air shook around her, more than one bronze stand falling over and spilling fiery oil across the stone floor.

She pushed out with her mind. The invisible wall flew forward, a shaking cascade of energy crashing into the closest monk and throwing him back. He was dead in the air before he ever hit the stand behind him, falling on his back in the flaming oil as the hall filled with black smoke.

She heard a ringing sound from above and behind. The glowing turquoise orbs broke into pieces like shattered glass, their light vanishing and blanketing the hall and enormous pit in darkness, save for patches of burning oil on the floor.

A sound like a screaming animal scratched at her ears and the floor quaked. The pit’s walls cracked and dust showered into Sevora’s hair and eyes. She felt a trickle of blood dripping down her ear.

She reached for her ear, still delirious from the noise, when a blast of clear energy caught her from the side. She spun in place and the energy glanced off her body, but it tore her korossa from her hand. She heard a metallic clang as the blade hit the pit’s far wall and fell into the void.

Sevora roared into the darkness. She’d never been so angry. Her battle cry echoed in the hall, followed by half a dozen thuds in quick succession.

She stood there, braced on the pit’s edge and ready for another attack, but none came. It must have been a trick. She stepped over the pools of burning oil and more than one smoking corpse, realizing with a start that the other monks were dead too.

She felt weak, like the blood had drained from her legs and arms, and she had to hold the wall to her left as she approached the next corridor. Stepping cautiously around the corner, a queasy dizziness threatened her balance as her hand slid over a glowing orb.

She hated this place.

She couldn’t believe her korossa was gone. She thought better of wandering through the corridors unarmed and turned back into the wider hall while trying to ignore the smell. One of the bodies stared up at her, skin pale with death and pulled back in fixed agony. Black veins crawled up the monk’s face, his flesh and eyes withering as the poison spread. His skin stretched tight to the bone before flesh and bone both dissolved into dust. She watched, unable to look away.

She risked stepping closer and pressed the now empty robes with her foot. Something clacked against the stone floor and she knelt to reach through the fabric, wondering in passing if she’d catch some sort of flesh-eating disease by touching these robes. She’d have to risk it.

The monk had a small knife at his belt. More surprising, she found a pistol and ball pouch opposite the knife. Pistols were the weapons of brutes and cowards, but she’d swallow her pride for a chance to get out of there.

She fixed her new weapons to her belt, drew the knife, and stepped into the next corridor.

The whole structure shook. Walls cracked above and beside her, and Sevora shook dust from her eyes as she ran down the corridor with as quiet a step as her pace allowed. Another quake slammed her hard into the wall on her left.

And good thing, too. A monk ran from a doorway a few paces ahead, turning his back to her and sprinting for the next hallway. Sevora followed.

The next hall had windows, she thought. Long, thin crenels let in trickles of light, hints of daylight and her first ray of hope since her mother’s betrayal. She tried to keep Breddel out of mind, but deep inside she knew her world had collapsed. She focused on the task at hand.

She entered the hall and spotted the monk peering through one of the gunholes. Sevora stepped over and cut his throat. For a moment, she thought of Seddram. She stabbed the monk in the side and slammed his head into the wall, lowering his body with care before removing her knife. She’d learned her lesson and wasn’t about to chance a victim’s survival in a place like this.

“Boedar!”

Three monks came running for her from the left. She stood and braced with her knife, but the monks ignored her. They knelt by the fallen monk as his flesh dissolved into grey dust, and Sevora had to step back to avoid being knocked over. She stood there with her jaw open and almost laughed aloud at her good fortune. Like the monsters at Kartumol fortress, these monks couldn’t see her.

The hall grew dark without warning.

Thick shadow swept in from behind and Sevora braced against the wall. A dark shape rushed past and ripped into the first monk with savage claws, throwing the mangled body aside and lifting the next monk against the wall before tearing into his throat.

“Zova—”

The third monk’s stammer cut short as his neck snapped in place.

The creature released the other monk and looked around. Grey, dead eyes like a shark’s studied the hallway. Satisfied, it stepped forward, and the monster’s cloak of swirling black mist shrank around its blue and purple skin. Sevora blinked, and the creature was gone.

She stood there in mute horror. She’d hoped to never see these monsters again. Valdaris said he’d killed the hive’s prime at Kartumol, that the rest would fall dead or dumb and never recover. The fool hadn’t considered there might be others.

She’d have stayed there longer if not for a crashing sound from beyond the wall. Even with the monster gone, she noticed only hints of sunlight shone through the crenels and stepped over to investigate.

Sevora gasped, a rush of vertigo making her grab the wall for balance. She hadn’t realized how high she was. This level of the structure looked built into the ceiling of a giant cave, with docks and raging ocean waves below. Dozens of ships lay scattered on the open water, most broken in half or dashed to pieces on the rocks. Several were on fire, thick black smoke rising from their masts and decks to blanket the cavern mouth.

A mortar fired from a frigate farther out. Sevora gasped as a giant red dragon plunged through the air with its feet down, black claws ripping through navy sails before the monster smashed through the ship like a bed of sheetwood. Sailors and soldiers, Selvan by Sevora’s best guess, thrashed about in the waves or drifted on floating debris.

Most of the survivors were pushed under the waves in an instant. An orb of clear energy burst from the dragon, pushing on the water so its giant body was suspended in an empty bowl the ocean couldn’t breach. The dragon extended its wings and looked up.

Sevora braced, knowing what was coming next. A shockwave sent wind, dust, and spray flying through the cave that she felt even here. She caught the slightest hint of ruby scales before the dragon was gone, shooting up into the sky as another, smaller dragon swooped down and unleashed a river of fire on a second frigate.

She recognized the new dragon, and she knew Valdaris was near. She almost felt relieved, but it was short-lived.

Past the wreckage and countless drowning soldiers, the sun vanished behind a wall of water. Sevora had never seen a wave so high, and it was racing for the cave like a mountain of spray, ruin and raw power.

Another quake shook the corridor and the wall fell forward. She braced, turning her back to the wall, eyes wide at the sight of a long crack splitting the floor in two all the way down the hallway.

The ground shook beneath her and Sevora screamed. A huge chunk of wall fell away to her left. Her breath stuck in her chest, and she was too terrified to move. She was high enough to barely hear rock and stone smashing through the docks below.

The ground shook again and she leapt off the wall in desperation. She made it to the other side, and the rest of the hallway held in place, but that wave was coming fast and she was running out of time.

Sevora ran down the hall the three monks had come from, pulling out her pistol and loading as she ran. She heard yelling ahead and bolted down a new corridor to her left, then followed its curved path as far as it would take her into the structure. She assumed more monks would flee deeper into the building when they saw the wave, but her best hope was to pray the water would recede before flooding the higher corridors. She’d hide and wait out the destruction and chaos below.

She turned a corner and froze. A dozen monks looked up from around a table. Sevora leveled her pistol at the closest monk and fired, but he was faster. The ball stopped an inch from his open hand. His fingers flexed, and the side of Sevora’s neck tore open as the ball shot through.

Her legs faltered and she stepped back, the smoking pistol falling from her hand. She grasped the wet flesh around her wound and stumbled back, turning around the corner just as a wave of clear energy smashed into the wall beside her. She raced forward around the next bend, but her legs were already giving out and she clutched the wall for support. She could hear the monks yelling and running behind her.

Her vision blurred. The structure shook, this time with enough force to throw her from her feet. She landed hard on her side and blood pooled under her head, passing her eye and soaking into her hair. She could barely feel her arms, and her legs grew stiff and cold.

A sound like a windstorm echoed through the hall, quiet at first but growing loud and ominous until Sevora thought she was lying at the foot of a waterfall.

And just as rushing water ripped off a slab of stone from the corridor ahead, a child’s voice rang out from within the rushing wind.

“Cha’vienne!”

Chapter 56
Zovakem Hive

“Sevora!”

Melladar ran to her sister, watching in horror as blood from her neck turned the white sand black.

“Alessa,” said Valdaris.

Alessa reached for the metal tube on her belt but hesitated, looking from Rhynwhen to Sevora and back to Valdaris.

“Are you sure?”

“There’s no time,” said Valdaris. “And I can’t help her. She won’t be trouble.”

Even Mella found that hard to believe. Alessa couldn’t be blamed for hesitating after Sevora led the knights against them.

Alessa knelt over Sevora and pressed down on her metal tube. Clear blue liquid slid out from red light at the end, dripping down into Sevora’s wound as she stared up, delirious and mumbling. Mella caught their mother’s name more than once.

The gel made quick work of Sevora’s neck, and Mella could feel the energy and warmth pulling flesh and skin back together as Alessa’s black rod passed over the gash. But the more Mella reached out, the more some invisible barrier pushed back. 

“Will she be okay?” asked Rhynwhen.

“She will, thanks to you,” said Valdaris. “Well done, little one.”

Rhynwhen beamed up at the Cereman, and Mella sat back with a sigh of relief.

“Where the scheth have you been?”

Sevora looked up at Mella with as much of a glare as she could muster. Mella wasn’t sure how to respond, so she didn’t. After what Sevora had done to Seth and tried to do again when she led the knights to attack the Peltan house with her inside, Mella was losing patience. It had taken her years to get there, but something in their relationship had tipped for good.

“So, what now?” said Seth.

Sevora seemed to just notice the captain now and color rushed back to her face.

Before anyone could answer, a wall of water crashed past the far end of the island, several spires of rock shattering and smashing into the sand like stones from a catapult. The group watched the destruction in awe, but as Mella turned to follow its path she noticed half a dozen navy sails behind them making quick turns to evade the coming wave.

“Trouble,” said Valdaris. “Vamira won’t be the only Selvan lord looking to control this place.”

He passed a knowing look to Elaryn, whose eyes went wide at the implication and jumped to her feet.

“What can we do?”

As if in answer, water and sand shot up in two explosive bursts near the shoreline. Two more cannons fired from the bow of the closest ship.

“This way,” said Valdaris.

He made for what looked like ancient ruins, white stone overgrown with vines and trees between a maze of towering stone spires. The group followed while Mella helped her sister to her feet.

“Where’s your korossa?” asked Mella.

Sevora glared, and Mella wasn’t sure if it was meant for her or who or whatever had taken her weapon. She couldn’t imagine as obsessive a kossa master as her sister parting with her blade lightly.

They made after the others, running through the stone maze while cannons and mortars continued firing from behind. A few outer spires collapsed behind them. Mella marveled at the ruins as they passed and grew livid as one structure exploded in heaps of flaming rock. Selvans had no respect for history other than their own. And she was sure beyond doubt these ruins were something else.

Elzar was waiting at the next bend and a flash of guilt passed through her. Not all Selvans, she thought.

Sevora shoved past the commander and yelped in pain.

“Watch it!” she yelled, looking down at a fresh cut in her thigh from his shield’s edge.

“Apologies, Captain Embraya.”

Sevora trembled with rage beyond anything Mella had ever seen. She wasn’t sure why. Elzar may have been feigning respect, but Mella knew how ruthlessly her sister had pursued her new title. And she knew Sevora’s pride, incurable no matter how arrogant and brazen others thought her to be.

Sevora stormed off without a word. After a shared, knowing look, Elzar and Mella followed.

Mella had to admit she preferred the commander’s company.

The tiled stone pathway through the ruins became wet as they ran farther in, at first a layer of damp but now a deep puddle rising past their ankles.

“Hurry!” yelled Valdaris, motioning with large, sweeping gestures for them to enter a doorway to his left. The building looked mostly intact, large white bricks held together by what looked like veins of webbed pewter. Chilling energy passed into Mella’s hand as she touched the dark metal. She pivoted around the doorway and up narrow stairs to the next level, which opened to a wide ridge covered in weeds and fallen rock.

She understood Valdaris’s haste now — water crashed around the pillars below, much lower than the wave they’d seen but no less deadly. At least any Selvans landing on the beach would have a hard time following them into the ruins.

Water splashed up onto the ledge, and the building they’d passed through crumbled into the churning waves.

Mella and Elzar caught up with the others between two pillars, but they stepped forward with caution. The group was crouching or braced behind the tall spires, and soon Mella saw why.

Hundreds of shapes crawled up the ruins and pillars ahead, like ants fleeing a smoked nest. Monsters with swirling blue and purple skin, some clothed in tattered rags and others completely bare, swarmed out of the island depths with hissing snarls, a savage commotion that grew louder as more and more monsters came into view.

Valdaris approached Sevora and unclipped his taldrine korossa from his belt. The moment his hand touched the hilt, the swarm of monsters stopped. Their bodies began vibrating, dark purples and blues melding together and an insect sound like a thousand cicadas echoing off the ruins in a sickening din. Mella watched the display in horror, distracted until Valdaris pressed the sword’s hilt into Sevora’s hand. The azurial dimmed at her touch and the monsters grew still. Their silence was more terrifying than their horrific calls.

Slowly, the creatures continued crawling about the ruins. But Mella could feel something closing in on the group, a dark presence now aware of their intrusion. A presence she recognized all too well.

“It’s coming,” she said to Valdaris.

The Cereman nodded, then motioned for the group to follow and turned left farther along the shelf. They stepped lightly, and ruins blocked their view of the monsters for most of the way ahead.

A final turn brought them to the mouth of a cave, with a massive cliff looming above. The others entered, but Valdaris motioned for Mella to wait.

“I need your help.”

Elzar stopped, looking between them with worry.

“Protect your cousin,” said Valdaris. “We’ll buy her time to recover and hopefully get us out of here.”

Elzar paused, then nodded and turned to join the others.

“What am I supposed to do?” asked Mella.

“Use the water,” said Valdaris. “Your gift is one I never predicted. Even thousands of years in the future, we never learned to harness its power like you can.”

He flicked his wrist, and the ruby ring flashed before extending into his terrible longsword — the sword that killed Dain.

“He wasn’t what you thought,” he said, guessing her thoughts. “And you should know by now what the Order he joined is capable of.”

Mella remained silent and drew her korossa, letting its cool chill wash away her lingering sorrow and fill her mind with a flowing calm.

“Oh, and mind my dragons.”

Surprise and confusion jarred her from her sword trance just as a fiery explosion lit the ruins to their right. A giant red dragon, almost as large as the one Valdaris killed at Mindan, swept past overhead and unleashed a river of liquid fire on a group of monsters. A second dragon dove in the opposite direction, spewing balls of fiery gas that split the stone spires ahead and crushed swarms of monsters below. But more were coming, crawling over the ruins and racing for the cave’s entrance.

Mella gripped her korossa tight and let her mind flow out.

The water was hers. Her awareness flew through the crashing waves below, cool energy rushing up her spine as her mind passed through the metal veins in the ancient buildings or scattered debris submerged farther down. She felt the thrashing bodies of monsters trapped in crevices or still trying to escape the rushing water. She remembered the people of Heldriss, the horrifying sight of such mindless slaughter, and she pressed out with her mind.

She felt only cool resolve as water crushed their bodies to the bone. Dozens of monsters screamed out and snapped as one, then lay still as purple blood seeped into the waves.

The dragons passed once more, each dive engulfing more of the monsters in bright, flaming liquid that lit the spires and ruins like citriol. Black smoke blocked out the sun.

A dozen monsters rushed for the defending pair with fangs bared and claws at the ready. They passed between two stone spires as Valdaris snapped his fingers. Pieces of rock tore free from the pillars and shot through the monsters like bullets. A second host followed, stepping over their brethren’s bodies or crawling up the pillars in an attempt to attack from above.

Valdaris’s sword began to glow bright orange and gold, tongues of flame crawling up both sides from the snakehead crossguard. He pointed the blade at the attackers.

A flash of gold lightning made Mella stumble aside and cover her eyes, the hair on her head and arms lifting as a second blast shot from the sword. A third and fourth streak of lightning followed. Each blast tore through two or three monsters or showered flaming rocks on the others after striking the stone spires.

“I need you to release all the energy you can,” said Valdaris. “We have to draw out their prime.”

She thought of the shrouded creature she’d seen below the Athamein fortress, and the vision she’d seen along the Deldran before that. She wasn’t keen on drawing that kind of evil’s attention.

“We face it here, weakened, or risk it escaping,” said Valdaris. “You can’t imagine what it will mean for this world if that happens.”

A lightning bolt shot from his sword in a fierce chain, streaking out in a brilliant, branching tree of destruction.

Mella stood, bracing once more with her sword, and pulled the waves into her awareness. She felt the energy in her core, drank in the warmth of dragon fire burning on the water’s surface, and pressed out.

Blue lightning streaked across the water like glass fissuring around a single point. The entire ruins lit up with bright blue energy as water shot out in hundreds of spikes, each one cool to her mind’s touch like icicles suspended in the air. Monsters roared in fury, but their cries cut short as Mella released her hold. The floating water exploded in rays of white and blue that cut through flesh and rock wherever they passed, leveling most of the ruins in an instant.

The cliffside shattered overhead. Valdaris raised his sword as an avalanche of stone rained down, crashing into a sphere of rippling energy that turned the stone to clear crystal as Mella watched.

They were neatly trapped. Mella hesitated before looking to Valdaris, but his eyes were fixed beyond the crystal barrier. Mella turned, and the zovakem prime stepped out from a cloud of shadow. The monster glared through the crystal between them, grey, dead eyes studying its prey. The creature’s fanged mouth curved into a vicious grin.

And with another burst of shadow, it was gone.

Valdaris’s face went pale.

“Oh no.”

Chapter 57
Into the Deep

Elaryn was grateful others took the lead.

Even with the fevers passed and her mind freed from Malzang’s touch, she was still adjusting to the new strain. She’d seen what Valdaris and Melladar could do, and Seddram now as well, but the changes to her mind and senses were still disorienting. She felt like she’d woken from a deep sleep, grateful for the rest but groggy and ill-prepared to face the threats ahead.

Worse, her zarakas blade was faulting with every use. It flickered beside her and refused to extend, and during the Selvan boarding it retracted in the heat of battle. She’d snapped a few necks and turned the Selvans’ weapons against them, but muskets and a cutlass were hardly her weapons of choice. She managed, but there were a few too many close calls for comfort before those hideous monsters demolished the ships.

Now, she wished she’d kept the cutlass.

Rhyn walked ahead, Elzar and Seddram on either side and keeping her from wandering off. She seemed quiet and aloof, though whether from the toll of using vocalir to rescue Sevora or from fear of the monsters closing in, Elaryn couldn’t tell.

Seddram was different now as well. She suspected his animosity for Selvan nobles ran deep, yet now he guarded one and gave fleeting glances, protective and perhaps even caring, to another. He was a thinker, like her, if less decisive, but there was a growing allure to him that gave her pause. She’d sort out her feelings another time.

Sevora and Podarrek took the lead. Elaryn’s skewed vision of both dizzied her mind, flickering rays of light filling her eyes one moment and vanishing the next. And whenever she looked at Sevora, the rays of light seemed to stop an inch from her body, a dark blur blotting out her shape until the light dimmed once more. It wasn’t evil she sensed in the brash Siivalan — it was resistance, negation. If there was such a thing as an opposite to the power welling up inside Elaryn, this was it.

Sounds ahead cut off her stray thoughts. She couldn’t see anything in the flickering light, but any sounds in the cave were soon drowned out by a cascade of explosive noises behind them. Flashes of brilliant gold lit the bends in the cave they’d just passed, doubtless the work of Valdaris and Melladar holding off the monsters.

She could feel a fleeting rush of awareness surge through her veins, calming and energizing all at once. Water trickling down the cavern walls turned bright blue, forcing Elaryn to cover her eyes just as she made out the grey eyes and vicious white fangs of a zovakem wedged in a crevice to her right. The light vanished.

Her eyes had no time to adjust. The monster’s claws tore into her hip and upper arm. It tackled her, and both fell tumbling down a steep drop deeper into the cave. She heard screams above, but thoughts of Rhyn were eclipsed by pain as her head and knees cracked on rock and she rolled again and again.

She finally hit the bottom, landing flat on her back with a groan, and the monster was on her. It ripped into her shoulder with its fangs as she reached desperately for her sword. Searing pain shot up her neck and down her left arm just as her hand found the zarakas rod and she pressed it into the creature’s middle.

By some miracle, the blade responded, slashing through the creature and forcing it to release its grip with a terrifying roar. Elaryn twisted the blade and pushed the creature off. She ripped her sword free and stabbed the monster through the heart, staring without mercy into those dull grey eyes before it finally grew still.

The zarakas blade began to glow red as three more monsters stepped out of the dark. She slashed one down the middle as it charged and the sword flashed with power as it passed through, blasting all three monsters to bits and shaking the cave walls around her. Save Valdaris’s display in the park at Sauvande, she hadn’t known zarakas blades could do that.

“Elaryn!”

She could hear them calling her name from above and turned the way she came. She was glad the others were alright, though she had to imagine more zovakem infested these caves.

As though answering her fears, a force like a lasso around her waist pulled her back into the shadows. She flew through the air before crashing in a shallow pool of water, rolling on her wounded shoulder with a cry of pain.

She stood, bracing herself with her glowing sword held out ahead. Her left arm fell limp at her side, and she could feel the poison sapping strength in her chest and dizzying her mind. The sword dimmed.

She was standing in a rounded chamber, the floor covered in water except for a small island of rock at the chamber’s heart. And there, floating above the island in a cloud of swirling black mist, was a zovakem prime.

The monster glared from behind a hood of shadow, its cloak swaying like a hundred tendrils of black fire.

“A gift for your father, Deldraean.”

Elaryn braced as the monster’s clawed feet touched down on the island. It raised a hand, and the shadows around its body shot forward like tentacles of black mist. The shadows skipped over the water and merged into the shape of a wolf, monstrous and terrible. Its feet splashed through the pool’s surface as it charged, closing the distance in seconds and leaping for her with jaws wide.

The zarakas blade glowed brighter than ever, but it passed through the wolf’s ethereal body like an arrow through fog. Black jaws closed around Elaryn’s neck, and her visions of flickering light gave way to the dark.

Chapter 58
Remember the Wolf

Seth stared down the hole in horror.

The vision of a black wolf, swirling mist interrupted by fiery red eyes and crystalline fangs, was seared into his mind.

He was about to yell after Elaryn once more when a gunshot echoed through the cave. Sevora cast aside her pistol and began slashing through the monsters as they swarmed the group from ahead. Podarrek’s longsword cleaved and stabbed beside her, its citriol pommel flickering with each swipe. More monsters came from behind, appearing from nowhere as though they’d been hiding in the walls themselves.

Seth pulled Rhynwhen away from the hole, warning Alessa with a glare as he left the child beside her and joined Elzar in protecting the rear. He was barely needed.

The Selvan commander danced between the monsters. His leaps and pivots were precise but powerful, bashing and blocking with his crystal shield while his clear blade stabbed and severed with terrible ease. Seth caught the few monsters foolish enough to try circling the commander, slashing one, beheading another, and blasting a third with a wave of energy.

Silence — terrible silence — followed. The group gathered around the hole.

“We need to get down there,” said Podarrek. “There could be more, or she could be injured.”

It was worse than that. Seth felt it. He’d seen the wolf close in — a shared vision in her time of need. And he’d failed her.

Elzar knelt beside the hole but said nothing.

“Well we can’t go back, and the way forward is too dark,” said Sevora. “And unless we found another way out, we’d never manage to climb back out of this. We’ll hold here.”

Seth couldn’t argue. It took all his restraint to keep his sphere closed. He couldn’t risk drawing the attention of something worse in this place. Valdaris had warned him of the risks. And he had to see for himself.

He leapt into the hole without a word, using the side for balance as his feet skidded down the incline. He landed half a minute later with a sharp thud, his korossa glimmering blue and held out in case of another attack. None came.

Torn flesh and purple blood covered the rock floor, but the cave was empty. He stepped past to the large pool ahead, following thin rays of green light dancing across his vision. He knelt by Elaryn’s body.

He felt nothing. Not the cold indifference he’d have expected in a past life, when he’d dedicated himself to resisting her people. What he felt was the numbing emptiness of a mind forced to protect itself. He’d come to respect the Deldraean, to see and admire her attachment to the child, her drive to stand in the face of evil.

And she was gone.

He closed her eyes. He knew he couldn’t stay, and she deserved a better place to rest than this.

He pulled off his vest, slicing the shoulders so he could stretch the thick material around Elaryn’s torn neck. He didn’t want the child to see her like this.

Seth sheathed his korossa, keeping a wary eye on the island ahead as he slid his arms under Elaryn’s knees and neck.

“Keep Rhyn back.”

He carried her body back to the hole and reached out with his mind. He kept the sphere small, and he held back tears as his awareness passed through the Deldraean’s wounds. His mind attached itself to the rock walls of the hole and he pulled himself up, floating in the narrow space and wishing this terrible moment would end.

Elzar held Rhyn on the other side of the cave while Podarrek and Alessa helped Seth ease Elaryn to the floor.

He stepped down beside her.

“Is she okay?” asked Rhyn.

No one answered.

Empty seconds passed before Valdaris and Mella came around the bend behind them. Seth looked to the Cereman, but he knew it was too late. The Cereman nodded, then approached Seth as Mella stepped over to Rhyn and Elzar.

Seth half expected the Cereman to embrace and comfort him, but Valdaris grabbed Seth by the scruff of his shirt and pulled him close.

“Remember the wolf.”

Remember what’s out there in the dark.

That’s all he said. He lingered over Elaryn’s body for a moment, then stepped over and knelt by Rhyn as the others watched.

“I’m so sorry, little one.”

Rhyn hugged the Cereman and wept. Seth watched and felt a cascade of emotion flood his senses.

This shouldn’t have happened. Damn the wolf. He didn’t need to be reminded that evil was out there. He’d never forget this. And if anyone could have — should have — been able to stop this, it was Valdaris… the man holding the one among them who’d just lost the most.

He didn’t blame Valdaris. He knew that. But his pain and anger and confusion latched onto a target and threatened to burst. He knew the Cereman would see an attack coming, and he knew nothing would come of it. It didn’t matter.

His hand touched his korossa’s hilt just as the cave spun in a blinding flash of colors.

Chapter 59
Ancient Darkness

Podarrek felt the child’s magic coming and braced in a sphere of power. The others vanished.

He still had a mission here. Until he could free himself from Malzang’s hold, he’d play the role of Zerakiim. Despite his now obvious deception, Podarrek was certain the man’s hatred for evil was genuine. If the master saw fit to will-bend from afar to fight the Cereman, using a practice he knew Podarrek held in contempt, there must have been a reason.

That said, Podarrek suspected more base instincts behind Malzang’s rivalry with Valdaris. During their battle, Malzang’s cool, precise rage toward the draemeir had given way to mindless fury. Podarrek felt burning hatred born of pain, fear, and envy as his master took control, and he’d seen flashing images of Mekkos preparing to fight a zovakem. He wondered now if fighting the hive was truly how the Order’s most prized assassin had met his end, or if the mysterious Cereman had played a part in his death.

Podarrek cleared his head with a quick shake. There was another prime in these caves that needed killing, even stronger than the last. He could sense the zovakem lingering in the shadows.

He reached out with a wide draemeir sphere he knew would catch the monster’s attention. The sickening presence of the Athamein pulled on his mind, threatening to break his grip, but Malzang’s blood ran deeper. He pushed the sphere wider still, pulling the whole cave into his awareness and daring the zovakem to strike.

He was ready. No more would die by this evil’s hand, and he’d strike one more rival off the board in his quest for power. He needed more.

A streak of black mist shot out from ahead, breaking through his defense. But inside his sphere, Podarrek could slow the attack, watching the tentacle of shadow approach at a crawl’s pace while he moved free. He studied the evil, feeling his focus shudder as his attention battered the dark particles. Countless specks of the malevolent parasite pushed through the air, hungry and desperate.

He’d never seen the draemeir outside a host, save the worm-like form they assumed when clustering in the depths of the earth. He was more scared of the mist.

How do you fight the air itself?

He had a theory, and now was his chance to test it. He braced with his longsword, letting his awareness sink into the citriol pommel and feeling the familiar chilling calm wash through his veins. Malzang and the Athamein both receded in his mind.

He struck out at the dark tendril, and the shadow bounced back from the blade’s edge. He fed more of his consciousness into the sword and the citriol amber burst with orange light. Another tendril shot forward and he deflected its strike with ease. Two more attacked from the side, but he danced between them and cut through both in a single overhand swipe.

Finally, the zovakem stepped forward. The creature wore draemeir mist like a cloak, grey eyes glaring and focused. And in the pause, Podarrek found himself envious. Here was a creature with total control over the strains.

Evil, but free.

“You’re different, aren’t you?”

The creature’s voice scratched at his ears, rasping like a harsh whisper. Podarrek wasn’t inclined to entertain the monster’s curiosity. He braced with his sword.

“Very well.”

The zovakem brought its clawed hands together and dark mist swirled between them. The mist grew fast and thick, like a swarm of insects feasting on an unseen carcass. The cloud dispersed, revealing a narrow spike of black crystal the creature held like a sword. Except for a missing crossguard, ruby, and golden hue, Podarrek thought the sword a striking copy of the Cereman’s mysterious weapon. He hoped that was where the resemblance ended.

As though in answer, the blade began to pulse with short bursts of black and purple fire.

Podarrek struck first. He raced forward and lunged, pulling all the speed and strength from the Athamein strain and Malzang’s blood he could muster without breaking his mind. It wasn’t enough.

The creature vanished, appearing behind him and stabbing out with the crystal blade. The creature was within his sphere now, and he blocked the attack with an easy pivot. Gold sparks shot out between the swords as they met.

His awareness glanced off the creature’s cloak, but the sphere held. He pressed down on the creature and trapped it in his domain. Their swords met again overhead, locking between them as the combatants traded glares. Podarrek’s cool resolve won out.

The creature lunged forward with its fangs bared, but Podarrek brought their blades down and struck it in the temple with the citriol pommel. The zovakem roared in pain just as Podarrek spun and slashed across the monster’s chest.

Explosive force pulled the Daruman off his feet and threw him into the cave wall. He collapsed, rolling to evade falling rocks as black fire cut through the cave’s ceiling. Two rocks cut into Podarrek’s legs and pinned him in place, and he barely threw out his sphere in time to stop an avalanche of dozens more. The rocks stopped an inch from his face, locking together by his design before his sphere faltered. He grew dizzy, staring up into the darkness as the strength left his muscles and his breath drew in short gasps.

“You came closer than most, son of Vistandel.”

He saw shadows move between the rocks as the creature approached. A sharp clang echoed overhead, his longsword cast aside by the monster and bouncing off the debris. He reached out for the blade, taking a strained breath as the citriol pommel flickered, but his focus broke and he sank to the cave floor in exhaustion.

His next breath, more a sigh of confused despair as life seeped from his body, cut short as a drop of metallic liquid fell down his throat. He gasped and choked, overwhelmed by the searing hot pain as hissing steam rose out of his mouth and nose. He thrashed in the dark, writhing in agony. The shadow spread.

Every bone and muscle and cell of his body tore and mended again and again, the very core of his being in flux as three ancient powers fought for dominion.

In a final, desperate attempt, Podarrek reached for the sword with his mind and pushed a weak strand of awareness, the last piece of himself he felt, into the glowing amber. The citriol cracked at his touch, and darkness closed in.

Chapter 60
Captive at the Tide

“You came back once,” said Seth. “Do it again. Make this right.”

Valdaris stood in the sand next to Rhyn, shaking his cloak as the others rose to their feet.

They’d landed back on the beach, where the wave had swept away the island’s tip. Toppled stone spires crossed the sand on either side.

“It took five thousand years to gain the power I needed to travel back. I’ll need less this time, but I risk fracturing our world with each attempt. Or worse, making our enemies even stronger. You can’t ask this of me. She’s gone, and I’m so sorry. I didn’t see until it was too late.”

Seth was shaking. He looked over to Melladar and Elzar, a pang of jealousy clamping down on his chest as he thought about what he’d never have. He wanted to scream at Valdaris, but a shrill tone in the air cut off Seth’s response. The company looked around in confusion.

White light flashed from every direction, and Athamein monks appeared on the fallen spires. Each monk held a black orb that pulsed with pale blue light. Selvan sharpshooters climbed up beside them on either side and leveled a dozen muskets at the group.

“Vald…” said Seth.

But Valdaris had fallen to his hands and knees, trembling and struggling to right himself. Seth tried to summon his korossa, but the air around his arm shook with such force that he cried out in pain.

“You knew this was coming, Cereman,” said one of the monks. He stepped off the spire and floated down to the sand, kneeling by Valdaris and holding the metal orb to his face.

“If you had any sense, you’d be using that to defend your people,” said Valdaris. He glared up at the monk, his face twisted in agony.

Cannonfire filled the air beyond the spire. The monks jerked Valdaris to his feet while the sharpshooters hopped down and forced the others to surrender their weapons. Elzar stooped to carry Elaryn’s body, and Seth noticed his hand close around the metal rod at her waist.

The Selvans escorted the group through the water and back down the beach. The sight ahead left Seth speechless.

Four frigates were turned facing the beach, each unleashing broadside after broadside on the spires and ruins beyond. Stone shattered and crashed down on the swarms of monsters rushing through, their bodies rising in a horrific pile as rows of Selvan sharpshooters fired into the charging host. The monsters kept coming, and Selvan soldiers with serpent blades fought and fell at the beach’s edge.

Seth wanted more than anything to charge into the fray. He didn’t care about the Selvans. But these monsters deserved the carnage ahead and much worse besides.

A bayonet poked at his back, forcing him forward. The monks and their escort seemed totally unconcerned by the battle, walking toward the ships along the waterline with stoic indifference.

A sharp clang rose from behind and Seth cursed as the bayonet pricked his back. He stumbled forward, then turned to look. Sevora had retrieved and drawn her new korossa, and two sharpshooters were already dead in the sand. A third followed, and with a twirling leap Sevora cut one of the monk’s orbs clean in half.

“Stop,” said Valdaris, barely audible.

A musket fired through the space where Sevora had been, but she was already on the next monk and pulled her korossa from his chest as she rolled aside. The orb in his hand flickered and dimmed.

“Enough!”

Valdaris rose to his feet and threw out his hand, palm facing Sevora. The air around her body cracked like broken glass, and she vanished. Mella yelped from behind them.

“What did you do?!”

“I sent her home,” said Valdaris. “I should have sent her to the sharks.”

Their escort stared in shock, then switched to rage as they considered the bodies. The remaining monks signaled for the others to follow and this time the bayonet in Seth’s back drew blood. He had a mind to level the bastard behind him, but Valdaris shook his head.

Two Selvan commanders in bright armor waited near a row of skiffs along the water. They studied the prisoners with calm authority as they approached.

“We have him,” said one of the monks. “Call back your men.”

“We’ll be overrun,” said the closer of the commanders.

“Now,” said the monk. “These beasts will be dead by day’s end. Their sire is long gone, and we have what we came for.”

“And more,” said Valdaris.

He snapped his fingers, and the remaining monks fell dead, their necks broken where they stood. The commanders drew their swords and every musket now pointed at the Cereman. He raised one hand in surrender while slipping the other into his cloak.

Seth smiled. Dagger or sword, the Selvans wouldn’t know what hit them.

To his surprise, Valdaris pulled a small, sealed scroll from his belt instead. Elzar was the first to recognize it for what it was.

“How in scheth…” 

One of the commanders heard the Kanarian and his eyes went wide.

“Elzar? What in schatha are you doing here?”

“Hello, Zavos.”

Valdaris interrupted the reunion with a step forward. Every sharpshooter in the company jerked their guns to the ready.

“You know what this is,” said Valdaris. And looking closer, Seth knew too.

How in the world had Vald gotten his hands on a Maldan dictate?

“You’ll recognize the daughter of Morraedd Deldraea,” said Valdaris, pointing to Elaryn’s body.

“Take me to him.”

Part III
Fall of the Selvar

Chapter 61
Sevora’s Wrath

Sevora cradled her sword beneath the great pine, the hearty scent of sap and forest decay grounding her nerves before the battle to come. The fleeting moment of tranquility gave her time to study her company’s faces, probably for the last time. They shied away from her glances, desperate to keep their own nerves intact before the final push. She couldn’t blame them, but she’d given up on hiding the truth.

She was terrified.

Her master saw it too. In years past, Dothan would have given her a thrashing for showing fear, though she’d never given him the pleasure. Now, he looked past her with indifference.

“Viro, take your men to the encampment and check for scouts. Show no mercy.”

Her fellow kossan nodded, gripping his korossa hilt for strength before setting off down the steep hill to the enemy camp. Dothan motioned for the rest to follow down the rocky incline toward the enemy flank. Sevora’s heart began to race.

She was better than this — she knew it. Her master knew it. Her fear was in her heart, not her mind, and she hated every second of it.

She gripped her new korossa from habit, painfully aware by now that the ancient weapon wasn’t like the others. Instead of chilling energy rushing up her veins and soothing her senses, the taldrine korossa pulled the warmth from her body, pressing on her mind with a sinking feeling as though her soul were slouching while her body stood tall.

Sevora cursed Valdaris’s name under her breath. This was all his fault, and if she made it through this day, she swore this blade would pierce his shriveled heart.

Dothan pivoted between two rocks and leapt down without a sound. His battle robes swept a path through the dead needles and cones on the forest floor, the swirling greens and browns of the loose fabric blending seamlessly into their surroundings. Sevora and her sister had chosen warrior’s garb over the robes when their chance came, but now, looking at her master and the soldiers’ respect his robes afforded, she wished she’d chosen differently.

Dothan paused by a fallen tree and signaled for the company to find cover. Sevora saw why — three Naemreddan scouts paced loudly through the brush ahead, their red and black uniforms making them easy targets. Two were chatting without a care, practically yelling to hear each other over the din of cannonfire beyond the woods.

Fools. Sevora smiled. For their numbers and savagery, the Naemreddans were undisciplined rabble. They hadn’t expected Siivalan support so soon, certainly not from above.

Dothan turned to Sevora, eyeing her korossa with disapproval.

“With me, Embraya.”

Dothan stepped out into the open, unsheathing his korossa and holding it loose by his side as he approached the scouts with a steady grace. Sevora took a shallow breath and darted to the side, keeping trees between her and the Naemreddans before coming around their flank. There was no point.

The first scouts only noticed the kossa monk approaching in time to stop their banter before his korossa slashed the right soldier’s throat. The other attempted to raise his musket, staring dumbly at half a weapon as Dothan slashed through the barrel with an undercut and promptly removed the scout’s head.

The third scout turned at the sound of his comrades falling, but Dothan was already gone. Sevora was about to run the scout through when Dothan stepped out from between two trees and stabbed the soldier with a spinning backhand through the heart. The curved blade almost caught Sevora’s arm as she stood ready to strike. Dothan glared at her over the dying man’s shoulder, and Sevora had little doubt her mentor would have relished catching her on the end of his sword.

The shame and hate made her want to hurl. She stepped back as Dothan pulled the blade free, her breath coming in short gasps as the rest of the company advanced and gave their own looks of disapproval as they passed. She knew her master had robbed her of the chance to wet her blade just to deepen her humiliation.

She braced against a tree, sap and bark sticking to her palm as she tried to ground herself. Her whole world felt turned upside down, and the whirlwind of events since her return to Siivala had stolen any chance to work through her shattered illusions.

Fleeting pain shot through her neck and she clutched her scar. The pain was already gone, and now strands of her silky black hair stuck to sap over pale tissue where a bullet had torn through. She’d be lucky to avoid adding new scars today, but at least they’d come from a known enemy. The scar on her neck was a daily reminder that her own mother had sent her halfway across the world to die.

A kossan shouldered past her and she almost fell over, barely catching herself on the pine tree and adding another layer of sap between her fingers. She seethed from beside the tree, her rage boiling over as she stared down the warrior. He glared back, daring her to try something and knowing she couldn’t. He wasn’t smug — like the rest, his contempt for her came from the purest hatred and hard indifference reserved for traitors and oathbreakers.

He was wrong, but there were no witnesses to dispel the rumors Breddel had spread after betraying her daughter — both her daughters. Friends and mentors who knew her best had turned on Sevora overnight or been too cowardly to defend her when she needed them most. Her only allies were either lost in the Palladon Sea or newcomers to this world without the social standing to testify.

Rage, calm, focus, distraction — no matter what she tried, she couldn’t shake the stress crushing her lungs. She’d never felt so weak. And here she was, about to engage the largest army her world had ever seen. She’d trained her whole life for such a war, faced down dragons and monsters without flinching. And now, when the odds were most dire, her resolve had been pulled out from under her like a rug.

The smell of campfire and gunpowder made her muscles tense even more. They were getting closer, and white smoke from the battlefield drifted through the trees like morning fog. The roaring cannons masked their approach, though even the most alert enemy would be hard-pressed to hear or see a kossan ambush coming on the clearest day.

The forest floor finally leveled off, and she caught her first glimpse of the enemy force. She froze, standing in the open for all to see before shaking free and ducking for cover. Her heart pounded against the walls of her chest and her eyes watered, as much from despair as from the smoke. She wasn’t ready.

Her fellow kossans ignored her and slipped forward to the forest edge. Dothan gave the signal — it was time. And Sevora would be damned before she’d let these backstabbing rats see her like this a second longer.

Her pounding heart became a reminder of everything that had been done to her, and she used it. Distress turned to rage, and she darted out between the trees, a swift predator unleashed on unsuspecting prey.

The Naemreddans had cleared some of the forest to build palisades and weak fortifications around their position, but they were still too close to the trees. Sevora slipped across a short stretch of stumps and black dirt before killing two soldiers with silent strikes. They never saw her coming, and she eased their bodies into a shallow ditch around the outpost.

Dothan walked by without a word. He grabbed hold of a spiked log set loosely in the large mound before pulling himself up. Kossans climbed the spikes along three mounds to either side, and the ambush began. Naemreddan gunners and musketeers stationed on the mounds fell without a sound, and the cannons grew silent.

The company braced against palisades while studying the army ahead, but they couldn’t stop. Return fire from Selvan artillery shattered the forward mound in an explosion of dirt, flesh, and splinters. The kossans had already slipped behind the next enemy gunners, but the danger would only grow as they advanced. The Siivalans had no way of signaling their arrival, save the silenced guns, so the Selvans would keep firing from across the ruined valley to their left. Sevora tried to catch sight of the Selvan position, but a wall of charred dirt and black smoke blocked her view.

She turned back to the battle. Her hands were steady, the dark teal blade of her korossa pulling in her awareness with its strange magic. Inside, she swore she was trembling, but at least her company wouldn’t see it.

The rude kossan who’d shoved past her, Jessin, rounded a corner and stumbled to the side as a bullet burst through his chest. Another day, in another life, Sevora might have smirked, but today her eyes went wide. She bolted forward, counting on the shooter to reload and miss her advance. She caught him in the chest while he was still looking down. A Naemreddan captain in gold trim cried out as she pulled her blade free, ducking into a spinning slice that opened the captain’s leg. He stumbled forward and she cut his throat. The captain stared up at her in shock while using his last moments to fumble at an ornate sword on his belt, never to be used again.

The other Siivalans made quick work of gunners and soldiers around two cannons, and the company prepared to advance once more. The Naemreddans’ makeshift mounds and hill fortifications made for a strong forward position in head-on war, but they were also an ambusher’s dream. Kossans could strike one platform unseen by the rest, any gunfire and commotion hidden in the din of battle. Soldiers would investigate the silenced cannons, eventually, but the Siivalans would have cleared a dozen positions by then, hidden behind enemy ranks.

But that’s where the plan ended, if there was any plan to speak of. Dothan had pressed them hard over the Savolors, and now he was throwing the whole company into an impossible battle while still exhausted from their mountain trek. They’d soon be trapped in an ocean of enemy soldiers with their path cut off behind and Selvan artillery unknowingly bombarding them from the side. They’d be picked off one by one in each skirmish, like Jessin just now, or their ploy would be discovered and they’d be forced into open battle with endless waves of soldiers and crazed cultists.

And Sevora’s rage at it all would only sustain her for so long.

Dothan led the company down the next mound’s side and right into a gunner’s line of fire. The Naemreddans tried to lower their crude cannon, young zealots in their late teens screaming at each other while the attackers swept forward. Dothan pulled a kathrang from his robes and hurled it into the sky, one soldier staring up at the spinning weapon with wide eyes before a kossan cut him down. The other teen fumbled at her pistol and aimed at the monk, but she shot wide and almost hit Sevora as Dothan ducked the other way. The kathrang’s sharpened edge caught the girl in the back of the head as she tried to reload.

Sevora leapt down to join the fight but her sword lurched to the side mid-stride, pulling on her mind and wrestling control of her limbs. She stumbled into wooden beams on the platform’s edge just as a line of Naemreddan soldiers appeared on the next hill and fired into the Siivalan company. Three kossans fell at the front, and Dothan turned to deflect another round of musket shots on his gesh robes. Though almost impossible to pierce, the fabric would do little to save him from fierce welts the next day.

She expected Dothan to turn back and unleash a master’s fury on the Naemreddan soldiers, but he stumbled to the side. She saw too late that he was clutching his chest with his free hand, and the monk fell dead while she braced at the mound’s edge, too numb for words.

The Siivalan company fanned out and took the next hill from both sides. The Naemreddan soldiers were no match for trained kossans, but speed and grace would falter as their strength and numbers continued to wane. They were leaderless — fierce and coordinated, but quickly splitting into smaller groups and taking losses on each platform. They left countless dead as they passed. Naemreddan soldiers and civilians armed with crude weapons lay sprawled across Sevora’s path as she tried to keep up. But the enemy army stretched before them as far as she could see, well past the Deldran River in the distance and plumes of smoke rising where the passing mob had destroyed the eastern boathouses.

If they didn’t turn back soon, this ambush would end in a massacre.

Prickling energy passed through the azurial hilt into her arm, and Sevora braced for what she knew was coming. Three kossans flew off the next mound and landed by her feet, two dead and the other groaning in agony.

There, standing between the Siivalans at the platform’s edge, stood two Athamein monks with outstretched arms. Sevora’s head twitched as pain shot through the scar on her neck, and her rage doubled.

She jumped up, sprinting along the side of the mound to her right before stepping across a row of wooden staves in long bounds. She was too late to save the monks’ next victim. A kossan floated through the air a foot away from one of the monk’s palms before the monk clenched his fist and the kossan’s neck snapped. But it would be their last mistake.

Sevora ducked as a blast of clear energy swept by her side, then braced as another raced for her in a cloud of dust. She gripped her sword, refusing to lose another korossa. But this time, when the energy struck, the taldrine blade pulled it in, absorbing the wave of power in a rush of energy that filled Sevora’s bones. Every cell of her body felt electrified and her muscles trembled from the heat and energy passing through.

She screamed, and the monks fell dead. The power left her body in a shockwave that slammed into the cultists, passing through them and ripping out their souls as their bodies crumbled. She could feel the essence of their dreams, their fears, their frenzied passions and lust for power, all stripped away by their own power turned against them. She’d never felt more alive.

The sounds of guns, swords, and cannons still filled the air with a terrible din, but the Siivalans stood around Sevora in awed silence.

“We have to turn back,” said Sevora. “We’ve done our part.”

Noillin, a kossa novice who’d barely earned her korossa in time to join them, approached from the side.

“We’re not cowards.”

Sevora ignored her. She pressed two fingers to her lips and released a shrill whistle, daring the others to defy her with her eyes as the remaining Siivalans rallied to their position. They remained unnoticed by the surrounding platforms, for now, but she wasn’t taking chances. She signaled stealth and lowered herself to the earlier mound, turning to make sure the rest followed before stopping by Dothan’s body.

He had abandoned her in the end, and she’d never forgive him. But he’d made her who she was. Kneeling, she grabbed his kathrang around the smooth middle and slid the weapon under her belt. She thought of removing his gloves but doubted they’d fit, and somehow it felt less respectful than slicing up his robe. The other kossans gasped as she lowered her korossa to the robe’s hem and sliced off two long strips, but they soon understood. She wrapped each strip around her wrists and palms, effective protection when sparring but even better for gripping the sharp sides of a kathrang.

The company was about to move on when something whizzed overhead and crashed behind them. Sevora looked up in time to see an armored figure flash across the sky and slam into the earth next to the other knight.

Finally.

She hoped they’d come. Daggen and Falcen had already left Siivala to join the Selvan defense by the time she returned, but she hadn’t known for sure they’d be here. Now, they had a chance.

The first knight jumped into the sky, lingering high above the enemy army before aiming his black sword at a nearby platform. The sword turned bright red and released a thin beam of dark purple energy. The Siivalans watched in wonder as the platform exploded and rained burning debris on the enemy in every direction.

Before the knight landed beside him, the second basilica turned to the left and swept the air with his sword. The narrow blade seemed to catch the air itself on fire, and an exploding wall of heat and destruction erupted from its edge before sweeping over the Naemreddans. Cannons and ammunition exploded, wooden staves lit in the inferno, and screams filled the air in split-second intervals before cutting off.

Sevora thought in passing that death by gizza swarms was the only thing she feared more.

The Siivalans stared in wonder and held out their swords, looking eager to rejoin the battle. But Sevora felt a wave of dread pull on her gut. Nausea clenched her throat as prickling energy passed through her sword. Whatever was coming, it was far worse than a few Athamein monks.

Noillin spotted them first, yelping as she stepped back from Naemreddan corpses at her feet. Black mist rose from one body and then another, tendrils of shadow joining together until a dark figure hovered over the bodies, head down and thin arms dangling to the sides. Another figure appeared to their right, and another emerged from the dark vapor mere inches behind Sevora before she stumbled to the side. Their eyes opened.

Fiery red eyes blazed out like embers from the disfigured heads. The knights noticed the new threat and began to turn, but they were too late. Two figures darted for the first knight in spikes of black mist that hurled his body against wooden staves along the platform’s edge. The wood shattered, but the knight fell to the dirt and lay still.

The third shape lunged for Sevora, and she barely managed to brace with her sword. The mist struck the taldrine blade and bounced back, sending a harsh shiver up Sevora’s spine and drowning her senses in an ocean of malevolent will. She’d never felt such evil, save from the dark wolves that had hounded her company in her first and only command. She gasped for air in short bursts. She wanted to scream, or run, or cry out for relief, but none came.

A sharp tug at her arm brought her back to the battle.

“Come on!” yelled Noillin.

The other kossans were running with desperate speed back along the cleared platforms, the conscious basilica carrying the other and following close behind. Black tendrils rose off every Naemreddan corpse as an army of ghosts materialized above, and Sevora’s eyes went wide.

Glowing red eyes blinked open like malevolent stars in a sea of black mist, and Sevora ran for all she was worth.

Chapter 62
Of Fog and Shadow

Dresca soared over the battlefield, wings wide and slicing through thick clouds between bursts of afternoon sun. The dragon’s muscles tensed, the primal need to destroy overwhelming its senses. The evil rising below called for aid, and some dark corner of the creature’s mind longed to answer. But Dresca’s will belonged to another now. A deeper purpose than chaos and despair filled its bones, driving its hunger for death toward a new enemy.

A wall of basilica fire swept over the eastern hills, laying ruin to the Naemreddan army’s forward ranks swarming like insects beyond the river. The endless host pulsed in purples and blacks to the dragon’s eyes. A wave of alarm and dark energy passed over the army with each new death. Specters of mist and shadow, the broken essence of the dead now fully captive to the malevolence within, rose over the fallen like harbingers of doom.

The mindless shadow searched for threats, its dark will combing through the clouds even while locking on the mythic warriors below. Dresca sensed the attention of its enemy and veered to the side, summoning power from the air and shooting across the sky. Thunder boomed over the hills in the dragon’s wake, a parting omen of destruction to come.

The miles raced by, sharp wind gliding over the dragon’s scales as it twisted between mountain peaks. Dresca drank in the winter chill like a soothing elixir, deep calm washing over the fiery rage burning through the creature’s spine. The hunger was insatiable.

There.

Mountains gave way to an endless forest of ruby red and obsidian black. The ancient trees flashed orange, a barrier of old power that barred the dragon’s senses. Silver sparkled through amber orbs and veins shielding the hidden settlements, the humans within wholly unaware of the protection afforded by their home and the primeval species nesting in their very cells.

But the old ways were over. Evil’s attention lingered over the forest canopy like a vile smog, malevolent intent that would not be denied for long.

And there, at the forest edge, Dresca spotted the enemy it had been sent to hunt. But they were too late. A creature shrouded in black mist stepped between two trees, dragging its clawed hands across their bark. It watched through lifeless grey eyes as oozing black liquid climbed up the trees and consumed them from within. Their leaves turned sickly brown and black as birds and lizards fled in a wild frenzy.

The monster looked up, a face of swirling purples and dark blues searching the sky before locking on the approaching dragon. The creature bared its fangs in a malicious grin, then ducked beneath the cover of the forbidden woods.

Valdaris Drascar woke with a start, the vision collapsing as he gasped for air. He clutched the hammock’s sides as the ship rocked between the waves, and his body ached. He shook his head, wrestling his mind free from the dragon’s lingering presence, not from discomfort but to remind himself he was still in control.

Every day he felt himself slipping further away. He was being pulled and torn between his fierce protector and his future self, both forces replacing his soul little by little with their own instincts, memories, and dreams. All three were connected — dragon, man, and warrior — distinct, yet part of a networked whole with him at the center. He wasn’t sure where identity or control fit into that equation.

The ruby pommel of his longsword had granted him visions of all the decisions, great and small, that took him from the man he was to the monster he was doomed to become. And at every turn, he knew he’d have done it all the same.

A life without regrets, he thought with a smirk. Not all it’s cracked up to be.

Footsteps pattered along the ship’s main deck above, and the frigate’s motions slowed to a crawl. Drascar sensed a new day dawning beyond the hull, faint sunlight on the horizon hidden behind a wall of dense fog. He slipped his legs over the hammock’s edge, but he was reluctant to leave just yet. The ship’s captain had granted him a small space in the forward hold to sleep, something he needed less and less as his powers grew, but he relished the time away from curious eyes. The ship’s crew, and even those aboard he now considered friends, watched his every move and seemed ever on the verge of asking questions they were too terrified or mystified to give voice.

In truth, he was a solitary creature, favoring the company of his dragons to that of people. This was the longest he’d spent in thousands of years with any group that knew the truth of his identity, at least in part.

Their journey from the Palladons to Selvar had been quiet so far, though a warning from the ruby set against Drascar’s middle finger promised today would be different. Like his dragons, and perhaps fueled by his connection to them, Drascar felt an unquenchable hunger for destruction he was eager to satisfy.

Someone knocked at the hold’s doorway.

“Is it time?” asked Seth, his outline barely visible through a curtain set over the frame.

“Almost,” answered Drascar. He rose and stretched, a pulse of crimson energy passing from the ring through his muscles and clothes, loosening any lingering aches and flashing across the smooth fabric of his navy cloak.

Refreshed and clear, he stepped to the doorway and pulled back the curtain. Seddram Peltan stood at attention, eyes locked on the Cereman and his left hand clutching the markings on his wrist as though itching to release the korossa hidden within. Like Drascar, he was hungry for revenge, and his confusion and hate for the dark had only festered over their week-long voyage.

“Let’s go,” said Drascar.

The Selvan crew parted with stares and muffled whispers as the pair passed through the lower deck. Gun crews pretended to polish and ready the ship’s starboard cannons. Selvans waking for the morning shift braced in their hammocks. Those who hadn’t witnessed Drascar’s slaughter of the monks on the Pallados beach heard the rumors soon enough, and they’d given him a wide berth throughout the journey. These Selvans had no love for the Athamein monks they’d been forced to accommodate, so most of their eyes gleamed with a sort of reverent and confused awe. But Drascar knew their hesitation around him was born more from the draemeir within, unsure how to respond to their wayward creation’s lingering presence. It was a short step from uncertainty to the fear he soon hoped to inspire in his enemies.

“Are you sure they’re out there?” asked Seth once they reached the main deck. He squinted, still adjusting to his heightened senses but unable to penetrate the thick fog engulfing the ship on all sides. Drascar had other means of sensing the incoming enemy ship.

“I am,” said Drascar. “This fog isn’t natural. I masked the convoy from the Athamein’s sight as well as I could, but there could have been spies in either port we stopped in. And there’s nothing stopping a scoutship from stumbling on us by dumb luck. Lucky for us, they’re alone.”

“Should we warn the Selvans, just in case?” asked Seth, lowering his voice as a musketeer passed behind them.

“They have at least one cultist aboard,” said Drascar. “I don’t want to put the others at risk.”

“So I’m expendable?” asked Seth.

“No,” said Drascar, sighing. “I trust you, and you’re good with a sword. Right now, that’s what I need.”

Seth relaxed his shoulders, but a cool rage still burned behind his emerald-green eyes. He’d have to learn to hide his altered appearance, but that was a lesson for another day.

“Remember,” said Drascar, “no spheres. You can link to your surroundings, but don’t reach out. We want to keep the draemeir dormant, or we’ll be facing worse than soldiers when we return. Leave the cultists to me.”

Seth nodded, looking either way before flicking his wrist and letting his korossa fill his hand in a flash of silver light. Drascar pulled some of the fog toward them to mask their departure, then drew his Chazendur dagger. Seth looked down on the ancient weapon and allowed an eager smile, the first Drascar had seen on the grieving captain in days.

Ready? asked Drascar, linking their minds.

Seth nodded and set his eyes over the water.

The air bent and broke around them, and both warriors jumped through the fold in space. They stepped out onto the deck of a lone brig. Seth braced for cover against one of the ship’s masts, but Drascar took three calm strides toward the closest Naemreddan and plunged his dagger in the man’s gut as he turned. He pulled the dagger free, slashed the man’s throat, and tossed the blade into the chest of a deckhand emerging from the quarters below.

Seth found his courage as another crewmember came around the mast to investigate. The fierce korossa cut through the man’s side, and Seth rammed the blade through his chest just as his back hit the deck with a loud thud.

Drascar held up his hand, signaling caution. For a trained Siivalan captain, Seth lacked the finesse and stealth of his people’s kossa masters, but he’d learn. Seth yanked hard on his blade to pull its length free from the Naemreddan and the thick wood of the deck below, then set off for the quarterdeck. Drascar pointed toward the ship’s forecastle instead. They needed to deal with the cultists first.

Drascar linked to his dagger and ripped it free, flicking his wrist so the spinning blade raced by into the fog. A gentle thud and gurgling gasps announced he’d hit his mark. Seth advanced beside him, his green eyes flashing as he linked to the fog and pulled it thick around them. For his faults, he was a quick study.

Most of the enemy crew remained below deck, manning the brig’s cannons in anticipation of the surprise attack they’d never live to unleash. Those above in the shrouds or attending to the ship’s sails were veiled in fog and oblivious to the two warriors slaughtering their kin below.

The pair slashed and maimed their way through a dozen mercenaries with ease. But as they approached the ship’s head, a sickening unease passed through both men like a wall of smog. Drascar raised his hand.

Wait here.

Seth was far from learning to mask his presence from an active draemeir host, especially one wielding an open sphere of power. Even with his cloak and summoned reserves of focus, Drascar struggled against the Athamein’s awareness while pressing forward. It took all his skill to conceal the Chazendur dagger from the dark’s attention as he entered the sphere.

The fog parted, revealing an Athamein monk braced on the rails against the ship’s bowsprit. He had to marvel at the arrogance, or perhaps desperation, of his enemy, sending a sole monk to lead this assault. Drascar’s mind flooded with visions of all the ways he could end this miserable cultist’s life. He smiled, settling on an act of simple savagery.

In the vision, he stepped forward, hand raised, his cloak gliding over the salt-stained deck, and gave the monk a gentle push from the side. The monk’s arms flailed and he slipped off the rail into the crashing waves. Water sprayed up as the ship’s hull slammed into his back and pulled him under, his body sliced and torn apart by the keel and barnacles below before a school of flesh-eaters reduced him to a tangle of bones and tattered rags in seconds.

Simple, savage, elegant, and every bit deserved.

Drascar let the vision fade and stepped forward to act it out, but the monk vanished. For just a second, a shimmering image of a woman appeared beside the ship’s triangular jibs, her hair and features sparkling in the sun and a gown of golden mist flowing down her regal body. Her hand was raised.

A warning.

Seth cried out in pain from behind and the woman disappeared.

Drascar turned, shock turning quickly to fury. Six Athamein monks stood behind the Siivalan. The monk closest to Seth fell to his knees and keeled over, dead, a bloody knife dropping from his hand to the deck. Seth clutched his side where he’d been stabbed, but the wound seemed superficial and his korossa hummed with blue energy. He’d be fine, but their enemy had come far too close.

Drascar fumed with rage, and his bright sapphire glare, eyes aflame with unnatural light, dared the cultists to try anything else.

His attention broke at the sound of large snaps from behind, and the whole ship titled back. He realized too late the full extent of the trap — the ship’s nose shattered into splinters against a cliff wall.

Masterful.

He linked with the nearest mast to avoid being dashed against the cliff, ignoring the rushing sensation of awareness flowing into the wood and sails. He flew forward with a quick tug of his mind, falling to his knees as more of the ship exploded behind him in a flurry of spray and splinters. The ship’s nose tilted down, and screams rose from below as rocks broke through to the lower decks.

Drascar slammed his fist into the forecastle’s thick oak. He’d hoped for more time.

When he looked up, the ancient soul within took hold of his mind and body, the younger Cereman captain finally surrendering his last vestige of freedom to the ruby’s will. The ring flashed scarlet and orange, and the trapped pair vanished. As the ship’s hull turned, the Athamein monks braced together with stoic calm before a final wave scattered their ruined remains against the cliffs.

Chapter 63
The Dark Possession

Elzar Kanaris rose slowly despite another restless night. The small cabin he’d been granted had barely enough room for him and his weapons, with a cot better suited to a man half his size. But having this tiny corner of the ship to his own had been a welcome reprieve — the ship made him uneasy. Even with an old friend in command and a Maldan dictate ensuring safe conduct, he felt trapped. He’d imagined returning to Selvandrea someday and confronting his family’s rival with a host of loyal soldiers at his side. Instead, he was at the mercy of men loyal to Deldraea, accompanying the body of his heir and sure to be blamed for her demise.

Even worse, he was leading his newfound cousin, as well as the Siivalan kossa who’d captured his heart, into the same trap.

As though summoned by his thoughts, Rhynwhen came running into the cabin.

“Hi Mister Elzar,” she said. “Want to come play on the deck? There’s a nasty fog, but it’s clearing up. Are you feeling better today?”

“Good morning, Rhyn,” said Elzar. “Yes, no more fevers last night.”

“Good,” said Rhyn, attempting to sound stately with her back straight and shoulders high. “I told Mister Vald to make you better, and he said you’d be okay.”

“Have you seen him today?”

“No sir,” said Rhyn, “but I heard Mister Seth yelling at him from that room I was never allowed to go in, with all the sand and blood on the floor. He was yelping like a puppy — I think he was getting stitched up. And Mister Vald kept saying sorry.”

“They’re in the sick bay?” asked Elzar. Rhyn nodded. “Interesting. Best leave them be. I could use some fresh air, anyway. Is Mella awake?”

Rhyn smiled mischievously and nodded. She saw everything, and she always seemed to know more than she let on.

“She had a bad dream and was up extra early. I hate bad dreams. She said she had some questions for Mister Vald and she was waiting outside the doctor’s room, but she asked me to come check on you while she waited. Plus, stitches are gross. I had to get stitches once. See?”

Rhyn pulled up her bright green pant leg, pointing to a faded scar just above her knee. She tugged so hard Elzar worried she’d damage her new clothes, acquired during their first stop on their way back to Selvar. He was amazed they’d found anything fitting a girl her age in ports bracing for war, but she’d spotted the bright green pants from afar and ran off into a crowd of gruff privateers and mercenaries without heed. Elzar and Mella found her chatting up a merchant, begging for the pants and a white tunic embroidered with flowers hanging nearby. Before Elzar could pay the man, Rhyn was off again, this time scurrying over to a tanner’s station where she’d found boots and a leather jacket she insisted they buy too.

Looking at her now, Elzar thought her well-suited to the new outfit. She looked the part of a child adventurer from his bedtime stories, read around the fireplace every night in those lost years before their family’s ruin. His older sister and brother had been too old by then to care for stories, but they’d taken turns entertaining Elzar while he drank in their tales of warriors and monsters to fuel his dreams. He missed those years, when his dreams had been an exciting escape instead of the nightmares of peril and distress that followed him now like a curse.

Rhyn coughed to get his attention.

“Ah, yes,” said Elzar. “To the deck, then?”

“To the deck!” said Rhyn with a cheer.

His cousin took long, firm steps like she was leading a march, and Elzar obediently followed with a smile.

Despite her recent loss, Rhyn’s unbound humor and distractibility had bounced back with added vigor, enough to make Elzar think they masked retreat from her pain. He worried the wounds would fester or, worse, break her young mind and that pure, gleeful optimism she carried.

Valdaris said her mind was already broken by evil, yet somehow stronger than all her people’s power combined, but Elzar wasn’t willing to risk her sanity. Her protection fell to him now. And though less alone than he’d been in a decade, he still felt unequal to the task.

They climbed the stairs to the main deck and Rhyn sprinted for the quarterdeck. She nearly tripped over a bucket and stumbled headfirst into Alessa.

The “Ambrovian” was leaning over the guardrail and barely noticed the impact. When she turned, Elzar could have sworn her eyes flickered from light blue to green and back to blue. She shook her head, scattering her long black hair behind her, and looked away as though embarrassed or afraid, ignoring an apology from Rhyn before Elzar drew his cousin away.

The strange woman had grown more aloof since the events on Pallados. According to Seddram, she held herself responsible for Elaryn Deldraea’s death, and the Siivalan captain was inclined to agree. He was a man grieving and looking for someone to blame, and Elzar had tried to give him space.

“Finally decided to grace us with your presence, eh?” said Commander Zavos from the wheel. “Peacetime has dulled your edge.”

“Care to test that?” asked Elzar. “I’m due for some practice.”

“Ooooh, I’ll get your sword!” said Rhyn, and she was off before Elzar could stop her. She leapt down from the quarterdeck, skipping the entire staircase and landing with a roll. He’d never have credited her with such agility and grace if he hadn’t seen it firsthand.

Zavos laughed.

“Quite the bundle of energy. I can still scarcely believe it… all those years fighting together to make something of ourselves, and your family had an heir hidden in Naemralda the whole time.”

“So much has changed,” said Elzar, joining his friend. “After Ceremai, I wanted nothing to do with our wars. I was almost grateful for a western posting. But then the whole world had to go turn itself upside down… first dragons, then cultists using the old springs for power… and now monsters attacking from the west and north, and Naemredd closing in from the south.”

“I thought old Morraedd was losing it when I heard our orders for this expedition,” said Zavos, nodding. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen them with my own eyes. I’m still not sure what I saw.”

“Evil,” said Elzar. “Pure and simple. The Cereman called them some vile attempt to recreate humanity.”

“Ah yes, the Cereman. I have so many questions about that one.”

“As do we all,” said Elzar, sighing.

“If the Ceremai had power like what he showed on the beach,” said Zavos, “it’s a wonder we defeated them with such ease.”

“I don’t think he had his abilities during our invasion,” said Elzar. “Whatever happened to him came after. Something to do with the Athamein, if I had to bet on it.”

“Can’t say I begrudge having them off my ship,” said Zavos. He leaned closer. “Old Morraedd’s losing his grip, between you and me. Letting their ilk into the capital, and now accompanying us on missions… and here we are, at war with an entire empire under their control.”

“Agreed,” said Elzar. “I have no idea how Valdaris got his hands on a dictate from Morraedd, but it makes me nervous. I thought he hated the Order, and anyone in league with them. I’m not sure we can trust him, but he saved my life. And he knows more about what’s going on than anyone.”

Before Zavos could answer, Rhyn came running back up the stairs. Though it was longer than half her body, she held Elzar’s sword like it was nothing. The gold-trimmed scabbard bounced off each step as she came up and Elzar was sure she’d trip over his belt dangling from the scabbard’s clip.

“Here!” She held up the sword, her eyes gleaming. Elzar hoped he could live up to whatever she was expecting, especially with the withering fevers of the last few days having only just passed. He’d never been so sick in his life.

“Last chance,” said Elzar, smiling at Zavos as he drew the crystal blade.

“I like my…” The commander’s voice trailed off as he watched the sword come free, rainbow light refracting across its clear edges like a brilliant tapestry extending from Elzar’s wrist. “How…”

“You hold onto those for me,” said Elzar, nodding at his belt and scabbard. Rhyn smiled back, rocking on the balls of her feet with anticipation. Yells across the deck summoned any free crewmembers and soldiers, and soon men were crowding up the stairs or hanging from the shrouds to watch. Elzar caught Alessa watching from below, and this time he was sure her eyes changed colors, bright flickers impossible to miss.

The crystal sword hummed with energy as Zavos lunged in. Without turning, Elzar saw all. His surroundings came alive with light, everything connected by rippling energy that fed into his bones. He reacted without thought.

Zavos’s tapered edge glanced off Elzar’s sword and Elzar pivoted, grabbing his friend’s wrist before he could respond and tossing man and sword over the ship’s rail. The crowd gasped.

It took Elzar a moment to realize what he’d done, and he shook himself awake before rushing over to the rail in a panic. Zavos hung on by one hand, legs dangling over the water. His face was beet red, and he was laughing.

“Serves me right for trying to catch you off guard,” said Zavos, still laughing as Elzar helped him back up.

The crew let out a collective sigh. Zavos leaned over, using his sword for balance as he tried to catch his breath. He’d always been a good sport, but Elzar was horrified. He kept his embarrassment hidden behind a practiced calm exterior, but Zavos more than anyone would know his mind was spiraling, trying to trace back the failure and discover how he’d committed such an egregious blunder.

“Alright, Kanaris,” said Zavos. “Now you’ve got my attention. Light of the Malda protect you.”

Elzar braced, his nerves still rattled from watching his friend fall, but he needn’t have worried. Zavos cut through empty air, his serpent blade and whole body framed in radiant light as he passed. Elzar hadn’t felt his legs move, but he pivoted again as Zavos attempted a swipe from the side. The next slash passed by Elzar’s ear as he ducked, and he recalled a similar duel between Melladar and Valdaris. As though ripping the memory from his mind, his body turned, left hand raised, and Elzar pushed off the commander’s chest with enough force to throw him on his back a few feet away.

Zavos rolled left, winded and shocked but still grinning. Elzar had forgotten how much he enjoyed their practice sessions in the early campaigns, though he’d never had such an advantage.

Light glanced off every surface nearby and filled Elzar like a reservoir. Endless energy rippled through him — he felt it somehow guiding his actions. He was grounded, immovable, and yet the energy inside made him want to dance circles around his bemused opponent.

Zavos charged again, and their blades met in the middle with a sharp clang. Elzar pushed forward, meeting his opponent strike for strike with alarming ease. He knew Zavos to be a fierce duelist, but his motions were sluggish under Elzar’s heightened senses, and the dancing light around them seemed to anticipate every move before it was made.

He saw an opportunity and closed the distance between them. A quick slice tore Elzar’s sleeve, a small price to pay for the opening he’d created. He switched hands, something he’d never have dared in the old days, flipping a parry into an underhand strike and slipping below Zavos’s sword while he stumbled back. Elzar caught his wrist again with his free hand, pulled Zavos forward and swept his leg, jerking his arm to complete the trip and pinning the stunned commander under his knee.

“I never knew you to fight dirty,” said Zavos, chuckling as Elzar let him up. “Again?”

“Why not,” said Elzar. “I was hoping to at least break a sweat.”

Elzar braced once more, but this time, all the energy building inside him rushed out in fierce strands of light. Zavos and the crowd around them blocked their eyes and the crystal sword lit like a furnace in Elzar’s hands.

He wasn’t sure what he’d done. Before he could guess or even try to replicate the feat, Zavos charged in. His friend’s attacks were savage, feral even, his cheerful disposition replaced by rabid snarls and a look of pure hate. He’d seen this before.

Zavos gave him no chance to revisit the Deldran ambush or the attack in Mindan that followed. The commander’s attacks came in a flurry, desperate stabs at Elzar’s waist and legs he could hardly parry. Where his friend had been outlined in radiant light before, Elzar now saw rippling shadows in short strands of black and purple. The darkness played across his vision like sparks and embers from a dying fire.

Zavos stumbled past Elzar after missing his mark, then turned and drew himself up. His wild features were replaced in an instant by something far more sinister, malice felt as much as seen. Darkness pulled down from cracks in the sky and gathered around the commander in a swarm of shadow. The air turned damp like a summer bog.

Elzar stood strong, but his heart broke at the thought of losing such a friend to the darkness.

“Look!” yelled Rhyn. She was pointing to the ship’s rear, where Valdaris Drascar stood beside the ship’s open skylight.

Zavos turned with the others to look, and red flashed at Valdaris’s wrist as his crystal longsword shot out.

“Wait!” yelled Elzar, but it was too late.

Zavos charged, and Valdaris flicked his wrist. Strands of gold and white fire shot out from the sword’s length and slammed into the commander as he leapt, sinking into his flesh and pinning him to the deck. Zavos cried out in agony, writhing under the fire’s touch and mouth foaming like a rabid dog.

Elzar made to do something, anything to stop his friend’s pain, but he knew there was nothing for it. Valdaris held up his free hand in warning, and the flames intensified, stretching out like burning tentacles playing with a scavenged corpse. The shadows pulsed and scattered, struggling against the bright fire before giving way.

A few seconds passed, the crowd staring in horror, before Zavos relaxed under the flame’s touch and drew long, steady breaths. The strands of fire dispersed and Elzar rushed to his friend’s side.

“Careful,” said Valdaris. “Just because his body is cleansed doesn’t mean his mind is safe. The dark possession tends to leave its mark on a soul.”

Elzar nodded. “Who’s his second?” he asked the crowd.

“I am, sir,” said a tall Selvan by the stairs.

“Take us in,” said Elzar, nodding to the wheel. Gulls were circling overhead, and Elzar wasn’t the only one aboard who’d spotted the cliffs ahead where Port Gammeda awaited.

“And someone be so kind as to fetch the doctor, if you please.”

Chapter 64
A Vestige of Hope

Melladar Embraya wasn’t sure she was cut out for this.

She knew how she felt about Elzar. And she’d never met a more charming child than his cousin. Such mirth and freedom in the face of evil… and Rhynwhen’s volatile powers only added to her allure. But Mella hadn’t counted on the child’s protector being killed and her being thrust into the role in Elaryn’s stead. She knew in her heart she was well past the point of no return, but she hadn’t seen it coming.

“Do you need something?” asked the ship’s doctor, a gruff-looking brute with a patchy orange beard and broad shoulders. He looked better suited to the front lines of a Selvan conquest than the sick bay of a military frigate.

“I heard… my friends,” said Mella.

Seth looked up from a raised cot, wincing and clutching his side.

“It’s fine,” he said, waving away the doctor. “He went out the other side, if you’re looking for Vald.”

The doctor stepped out through the entrance Seth had motioned to.

“What happened?” asked Mella. She already knew the answer but wanted to hear it aloud.

“Our own damn fault,” said Seth. “Walked right into a trap. Vald sensed an enemy ship out in the fog and I was itching for a fight.”

“I woke up dreaming about a ship crashing into cliffs with you and Vald aboard,” said Mella. “When I heard you yelping from the sick bay, I knew.”

“Hey, I wasn’t…” His voice trailed off.

Seth leaned forward as though studying her, and his eyes shimmered bright green. The silence drew out and Mella shifted on her feet, not uncomfortable but wishing he’d say more and think less for once.

“We got off the ship just fine,” said Seth. “This came from a knife, courtesy of an Athamein monk. They created some kind of illusion even Vald couldn’t see through. A ‘false future,’ he called it. It seemed to really scare him.”

“Are they dead?”

“He says so,” answered Seth, “but clearly his power has limits. I suppose every mission has risks, but they came out of nowhere. I’m only sorry I didn’t get to kill more myself.”

He paused.

“We could have used you there, to be honest.”

She could tell he meant it beyond just referencing her newfound abilities.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to join his crusade… not yet,” said Mella. “But… thank you. For what it’s worth, you’re still our captain — to me.”

Seth smiled, then winced again.

“Blast it. Where’s that damned Ambrovian with her gel.”

“Want me to fetch her?” asked Mella.

“No, I’ll manage. Vald said it won’t work on us anyway, now that we’re ‘changed’ like him.”

Mella thought it was high time she asked what this all meant, but her questions were interrupted by a wave of malice almost as terrible as what she felt on the beach at Pallados. She caught a look of alarm from Seth and drew her korossa just as Seth’s wrist flashed silver. Her heightened senses let her watch the silver tree etched into his skin glow and expand, sliding up into his hand and twisting out into the shape of his amber-hilted korossa.

“A neat trick, that,” she said.

“It’s not all bad,” he said with a smirk.

“Doctor, you’re needed at once,” came a voice from the entrance.

“Who’s done got themselves stabbed now?” asked the doctor.

“It’s Commander Zavos. I’m not sure what happened. Practice duel gone wrong.”

Seth motioned toward the opposite entrance and Mella took the lead. She assumed from the ruckus above that whatever happened was on the main deck. And she thought she heard gulls.

The Siivalan pair made their way up and found the deck in utter chaos, half the crew running about as the ship made for a gap in the cliffs ahead. Massive walls of red stone lined with cannons marked the entrance to Port Gammeda. Mella had heard it was Selvar’s most fortified seaward position, but it was something else to behold.

Selvan vessels of all sizes lined the long corridor between the cliffs, all with dark oak hulls and navy sails. Military. She’d never realized the Selvan navy had fleets this large. Her own land-bound people suddenly felt diminished and small next to the might of their oppressors. The corridor opened into an enormous basin full of strange platforms that rocked on the waves, most holding stone buildings with more cannons and soldiers stationed above. Skiffs traveled back and forth between the platforms and nearby ships.

“Pearl shafts,” said Elzar, answering the first of her many questions. Mella smiled, but Seth flinched from surprise. To Mella’s eyes, the commander’s whole body looked aflame with thin rays of rippling light. It was a wonder he’d managed to approach them without her noticing.

“You’re wasted as a commander,” said Seth. “You’d have made a fine kossan with stealth like that.”

Elzar smiled at them both, but he looked worried.

“The turrets guard the port and make any attempt at bombardment near impossible. Not that Port Gammeda has seen real action in, well, centuries,” said Elzar. His voice was strained, and Mella could tell he was trying to distract himself as much as act their guide. “We use vocalir to create shafts underneath, all the way down to the basin floor. Palladon oysters swarm the tubes and line the shafts almost daily. Excellent for eating, and even better for wealth.”

“My mother used to wear a string of Palladon pearls,” said Mella. “Exquisite.”

“Perhaps we’ll find you one to match it,” said Elzar. “They’re worth a fortune outside our borders, but you’ll never find them easier and cheaper than here in Gammeda.”

Mella blushed and noticed Seth shifting awkwardly.

“No wonder the port is so well fortified,” said Mella, trying to move the conversation along.

“Can’t say I’m not impressed,” said Seth.

The air shifted around them, like a subtle change in the wind as a storm draws close. She wasn’t surprised to see deep navy to her right as Valdaris joined them. Alessa approached the group from the opposite side of the deck.

“We need to be careful here,” said Valdaris. “You’ll see for yourselves what the strains can do to a mind, to entire cities, when allowed to fester. Gammeda is full of contradictions and cruelty, masked by the veneer of power and wealth you’re seeing now.”

“I don’t like it here,” said Rhyn, stepping out from behind his cloak. “The voices are all angry inside.”

“We won’t be here long,” said Valdaris. “Just stay close.”

A tall Selvan officer approached the group, looking strangely nervous for a high-ranking soldier. Though, considering the nature of their motley group, Mella couldn’t blame him.

“We’re approaching the docks, sir,” said the officer, looking from Elzar to Valdaris as though unsure who was in charge.

“Thank you,” said Valdaris. “We’ll need a small escort during our stay before we depart for the capital. Four should do, if you can manage it.”

The officer nodded and his shoulders loosened. He looked new to command and relieved to have directions from another, even coming from the Cereman they were meant to be escorting to Morraedd. Mella wondered in passing what had happened to Zavos — she’d taken him for a friend of Elzar, and he’d treated his fellow commander and their group with deference throughout the voyage. It was strange having another ally among the Selvans, but she found her old animosities fading with time.

The sentiment passed as a wave of dread came over her, the shocked look on the Maldan Lord Vamira’s face replaying in her mind.

There’d been no mention of his death throughout the voyage. Apparently, the survivors from the battle in the Palladons, both Podarrek’s privateers and Vamira’s soldiers, had fled into the ruins on Pallados when Zavos’s convoy approached. She knew there were divisions between the Selvan lords, but she hadn’t counted on them to protect her from the consequences of killing a lord. She was sure the news would reach the Malda eventually.

“Before we dock, I wonder if we might be allowed into the magazine,” said Valdaris. He turned to the group. “There’s something you all need to see.”

“I don’t think…” The ruby ring flashed red at Valdaris’s side and his eyes were calm but grave. The officer gulped loud enough to hear. “This way.”

They followed him single file down the stairs and through the gun deck to a trapdoor. A narrow ladder fed down into the rear magazine. Mella turned to Elzar.

“Isn’t that where they’re keeping her?” she asked. “Rhyn shouldn’t have to see this.”

Elzar pursed his lips and nodded, trying to push ahead. A voice in their minds stopped them in their tracks.

She needs this too.

Elzar looked back at Mella, eyes wide, but after a pause they followed the others down. They had to keep their heads low in the narrow space as they shuffled through rows of gunpowder kegs. There, her figure obscured by a long, white sheet, Elaryn Deldraea lay at peace on a bed of wooden beams.

Rhyn hurried over to Mella and buried her head into her hip, looking back the way they came.

“You can go,” said Valdaris.

The officer froze.

“It’s alright,” said Elzar.

It took a few seconds and muffled stutters for the officer to give in, reluctantly making his way back through the magazine. Valdaris waited for the man to climb out before speaking.

“Seddram and I snuck aboard an enemy brig this morning, one intending to trap us and ambush the convoy,” he said at last. “A story for another time. But while on board, I saw something I never imagined possible.”

The Cereman held out his hand, passing his palm over Elaryn’s body. The ruby ring glimmered and hummed with power. As his hand moved over her, a rippling wave of gold sparkles washed over the sheet, growing more intense until the Deldraean’s figure seemed ablaze with golden light.

“It… has the sword.”

The whole group gasped, and Rhyn ran from Mella’s side to clutch the glowing sheet. The voice was Elaryn’s, faint but unmistakable.

Seth took a rushed step forward before catching himself.

“How?” he asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know,” said Valdaris.

“It seems there’s much you don’t know!” yelled Seth, eyes on fire.

“Too much. But this… this is something beyond my wildest dreams. I don’t want to give any of you false hopes. Elaryn Deldraea is gone, at least as we knew her, and that burden is one I will bear as long as I live. But something of her essence, her knowledge and drive, her passions and aspirations, has lived on.”

“Through the strain,” said Alessa, her voice full of awe.

Valdaris smiled, sapphire eyes glimmering at the Ambrovian. The ring flashed scarlet, and suddenly Alessa’s body sparkled as well, a thin cloud of radiant dust floating around her borrowed Selvan uniform. Her eyes flashed green.

“It’s coming.”

This time, the voice came from Alessa, though her mouth was closed. The golden spectacle vanished and her eyes reverted to their natural light blue as they watched.

“I don’t understand,” said Seth, staring at the Ambrovian with a look of jumbled, confused emotions.

“Some part of Elaryn lives on in all of us,” said Valdaris. “All those who share the gilden strain. But what remains of her seems most drawn to Alessa. Perhaps she senses a kindred spirit.”

Alessa looked down at her hands and arms, turning them back and forth as hints of golden sparkles danced across her sleeves and palms.

“I’ve felt different since the island,” she said. “I guess now I know why. What will happen to me?”

“Nothing,” said Valdaris. “If I had to guess, you’ll blend into a whole, joined with her memories but still your own soul. We’re all changing in ways we can’t predict.”

He looked around the group, eyes settling on each as though taking the measure of them in turn.

“The draemeir strains have something like what we’re seeing here. Dark specters, remnants of the dead that latch onto hosts when they find souls akin to their own. When the draemeir feel especially threatened, if there aren’t monsters nearby, the specters have been known to manifest and strike out at their enemies. The Athamein cult treats them with reverence, mistaking them for proof of an afterlife.”

“But they’re not?” asked Elzar.

“No. A mind connected to the draemeir is fragmented across the entire strain when it dies, stretched thin and scattered.”

“But we all heard her,” said Seth. “Clear as day.”

“And I suspect we always will,” said Valdaris. “The gilden strain is different. I meant it to be an answer to the draemeir, light and order in place of evil and chaos. But even I can’t predict how it develops once loose. All I know is some legacy of our friend remains, as hellbent as ever on fighting the darkness.”

Seth nodded, though his shoulders dropped ever so slightly. Mella glanced sideways at Elzar, and she found herself hoping to never face the loss and disappointment her old captain was being forced to endure. Love lost as soon as found, then found again only to haunt one’s waking hours as a specter of light, seemed almost as unbearable as the loss itself, faint hope held ever beyond reach.

“So what did she mean?” asked Elzar. “What’s coming, and what sword?”

“The Zovah has reached the heartwoods,” said Valdaris. He looked from Seth to Mella. “To my knowledge, your people are safe. But thanks to Elaryn’s warning, we now know what it was after.”

He looked down at Rhyn.

“It’s found the captain’s korossa, left behind in Mobrid when you escaped. And thanks to the trace of power left behind by Rhynwhen’s touch, the sword gives our enemy a way to track her.”

Chapter 65
Stroll into Peril

Alessa Sinclaes knew she was running out of time.

Her marvel at the news of Elaryn’s survival, however limited, soon gave way to dread. She’d feared losing herself to the strain ever since her infection, even if it saved her life. Now, she had at least some idea of how it would happen.

Worse, the fragmented memories invading her mind were those of a woman she’d nearly killed. Every night for a week, and even once as she walked the ship’s deck, she’d relived Elaryn’s pain in vivid detail — first a blast to the chest from Alessa’s own pistol, then the feral grip of shadowy fangs tearing her throat. She’d assumed the dreams some horrific trick played by misplaced guilt, but now she knew better.

They were memories.

“The ship will be docking soon,” said Valdaris. “We should gather our things and meet back on the deck.”

“Are we in danger?” asked Melladar.

“The Zovah will be coming for Rhyn, but I suspect it will need to gather its strength and search out its kin before trying anything,” said Valdaris. “That buys us time. I’d be more worried about the dangers in this city.”

He paused, then looked over to the Selvan commander.

“You still have her sword, yes?”

Elzar cocked his head, then nodded.

“I hid it back in my cabin.”

“You won’t find much use for it, but you were wise to take it. I wonder if you might fetch it while I discuss something with Seddram and Alessa here.”

Elzar gave a curious look but agreed, leading his reluctant cousin back out with Melladar close behind. Valdaris turned to Seth once they were beyond the trapdoor.

“Here,” said Valdaris, holding out a crescent-shaped dagger. “There’s someone I need you to kill.”

Before either could respond, a flood of images rushed into Alessa’s mind. From the strain on Seth’s face, she assumed he was seeing the same. Valdaris’s ruby pulsed with energy as knowledge passed between them, overwhelming her senses.

The tangled visions showed fragments of war and destruction, culminating in a cataclysm beyond anything she’d imagined. A giant eruption leveled nations in every direction, walls of fire and gas incinerating forests, turning deserts into rivers of glass, and crumbling cities into smoking ruins.

“Was that…”

Her vision blurred and she had to steady herself against a gunpowder keg.

“The eruption that started the Fall,” said Valdaris. “It began here in Selvar, with Morraedd’s descent into madness. His desperate attempts to hold power led him to seek out and misuse artifacts he didn’t understand. Artifacts like the swords used by Elaryn and her order.”

“They’re basilica blades, aren’t they?” asked Alessa. She’d almost hoped others from her world had made it through when she first saw the ornate rod on Elaryn’s hip.

“Of a kind,” said Valdaris. “Remnants of a civilization that came here before us, from their own future. That revelation led me to believe going back was possible. And here we are.”

“So the Chazendur…” said Seth.

“Yes,” said Valdaris. “Our ancestors, at least some of them, scattered survivors of an advanced civilization that fought and fled the draemeir first.”

“So how are men and women without enhancements able to use their technology, like the swords?” asked Alessa.

“I think you know,” said Valdaris. “Through the strains. The draemeir preserve knowledge from their hosts, at least in part. Malzang and his Zerakiim followers must carry a strain descending from the Chazendur.”

Alessa wanted to know more but held her tongue. Valdaris’s ominous request still hung in the air, and Elaryn’s crescent dagger still lay across his open palm.

Seth reached out, hesitant, but after a pause he took the dagger with something like gratitude in his eyes. He braced as though expecting to be struck, shoulders stiff and eyes shut, and the air broke in a fissured vortex around him. And as quick as it appeared, the gap closed, taking the captain with it.

Elzar returned down the magazine ladder just as the sound of rushing air faded. He looked from Alessa to Valdaris.

“Where’s the captain?”

“I sent him ahead to Selvandrea with an errand,” said Valdaris. “And to make sure it’s safe for when we arrive.”

Elzar stared as though searching for hidden meaning in the words, then nodded. He pulled Elaryn’s basilica rod from his belt and held it out between them.

“Not for me,” said Valdaris. “For her.”

Elzar looked as confused as Alessa. But even as she looked back and forth between the two men, she caught traces of red light dancing across the rod’s smooth surface. The ornate silver and black etchings pulled on her mind and hummed with a power that felt somehow familiar. As the commander handed her the weapon, sparkling gold skipped down her hand to touch the dark metal. A rush of cold energy raced up her arm and into her lungs, exactly as the basilicas had always described it — chilling, electrifying, yet somehow intensely calming, like falling into a deeper state of focus than she’d ever known.

“Now, Alessa and I have matters to attend to in the city,” said Valdaris. “The Selvans will be looking to gather provisions for the journey to Selvandrea, so you should wait with Rhyn in whatever shelter they provide until they’re ready. We’ll meet you there.”

Elzar gave a slight bow and turned back the way he came. He seemed to sense the urgency and danger they all felt, and he had an air of deference to command that comes from years of soldiering. But from the look in his eyes as he walked past, he was restless with questions like the rest of those now beholden to Valdaris.

“So, what do you want from me?” asked Alessa.

“I thought we might walk through the town,” said Valdaris. “There was a time when we were friends — before you knew who I was. Friends do stroll about and talk, do they not?”

For a moment, she could have been talking to the quiet engineer she’d known on the Gondran, a friendly mystery she’d been eager to unravel. She laughed.

“That’s all?”

Valdaris allowed a subtle grin. He led the way out of the magazine and they soon joined the others above. It took some convincing, but the Selvans assented to the pair roaming the city so long as they brought an escort. The rest of the group made off for the upper town surrounded by Selvan soldiers, while the ship’s crew retrieved Elaryn’s body and prepared her for travel.

It took close to an hour before everything was sorted and they finally left the ship. Despite the bustle of crowds around the docks, Alessa felt safer than she had on a frigate full of infected enemies. Port Gammeda was busier than Amarros or even Sauvande, but there was an elegance and grandeur to the commotion both ports had lacked. The city’s buildings rose in towering levels up a steep cliff ahead, all built from dark red and grey stone that reminded Alessa of a fading sunset as dusk gave way to night.

It took almost half an hour more for Alessa and Valdaris to escape the waterfront and reach quieter streets higher up. They climbed more than one narrow stairway and followed side alleys toward the eastern cliffside overshadowing the city. Their escort, a pair of Selvan musketeers, grew nervous the closer they drew to the cliffs, grumbling between themselves and protesting every time they entered a new street. Valdaris ignored them.

“So, you wanted to talk?” said Alessa, breaking the silence at last.

“I suppose I’m curious,” said Valdaris. “Am I really so different now from how you knew me in our time?”

“I didn’t really know you though, did I?”

“You don’t have to know everything about someone to have a sense for who they are.”

Alessa thought she saw someone watching from a balcony above, but the dark shape vanished as quickly as it appeared. Valdaris stopped beside her.

“It’s not what you expected, is it?” he asked.

“What?”

“The strain.”

Alessa furrowed her brow, unsure how to answer.

“You’re not a slave.”

“Really?” asked Alessa. “Then why do I feel trapped? The world I knew is gone, and here I’m stuck following your every whim. Just like Seth — a man I’d have taken for having his own mind until he agreed to murder on your behalf without question.”

“You’re forgetting we can communicate with more than words,” said Valdaris. “You were present, but I shared different knowledge with him than what you saw. His mission in Selvandrea will likely save his entire people.”

“By killing Elaryn’s father?” asked Alessa.

“No. Morraedd’s time will come,” said Valdaris. “I sent Seth to find a Siivalan traitor hiding in the city.”

Alessa continued walking, though now she was sure she saw someone watching above. More than one dark figure looked out from alleys and windows as they passed. Children, she realized as she looked closer, all wearing rags and tattered clothing in stark contrast to the wealthy merchants and officers they passed on the wider streets.

“So that’s how you do it, then?” asked Alessa. “You play to your followers’ loyalties to make them do your bidding until the strain takes hold? How long before we’re all your ‘gilden slaves’?”

“I always hated that name,” said Valdaris. “Taking over minds has never been my way. And I make no apology for offering guidance and direction to those who need it. The captain and I have common enemies — I’ve just been fighting them longer.”

He paused.

“And for what it’s worth, I’m glad not to be fighting this war alone. You don’t have to, either.”

She’d felt alone in this strange world since arriving. Longer, if she was being honest, and most days it suited her fine.

As they turned a corner where the street split ahead, a girl jumped out and planted herself in Valdaris’s path. The musketeers leveled their weapons at her, but Valdaris raised his hand in warning. He had to turn and deliver a withering glare before they finally lowered their guns.

“Y’re awful close t’ the dives, yeah?” she said. “Best be needin’ a guide, yeah? I can help.”

Scan her, Alessa heard Valdaris in her mind. Please.

Alessa tapped her wristband and felt her cybernetics reactivate. The sensation was less jarring than it had been after her infection, though the implants buzzed faintly inside her skull. She enjoyed the reminder of home, but she’d be glad to turn them off as soon as possible.

The girl was in her early teens by her looks, tall and thin with long black hair and creamy chestnut skin. Her skin and tattered clothes were stained with soot and blotches of what looked like purple and black ink.

Infected, thought Alessa, though her count is low. And the strain’s signature is… different.

A sinking feeling filled her body. Her thoughts shrank and slipped into empty space, replaced by a short burst of heat. Valdaris nodded.

“What’s your name?” he said.

“Yemalla, buster,” said the girl. “Wha’s yours?”

“You can call me Vald, and this is Alessa.”

“Sir, it isn’t safe,” said one of the musketeers.

Warnings flashed from the left corner of Alessa’s display, and she realized the buildings and streets ahead were now lined with teens and children watching the newcomers. Most had strain counts far higher than the girl’s, their bodies lit bright red on her display against a backdrop of cherry red stone. Looking back, she almost reached for her new sword.

Selvan sharpshooters lined the roofs behind them and watched from balconies on the city’s next level. She sensed they were eyeing the children rather than her and Valdaris.

“It’s fine,” said Valdaris. “You can wait for us here.”

“Obliged, sir,” said the Selvan. He looked like a man who’d just escaped execution.

“Y’re bein’ might brave f’r outsiders,” said Yemalla. “This way, yeah?”

The girl set off the other way, following the street as it sloped toward the cliffside. The homes and buildings on either side grew dingy and run down the closer they came to the cliff, fine stonework giving way to crumbling, crooked structures stained with smoke and grime. The children watching began scurrying about, crossing the street in quick bursts faster than Alessa’s eyes could track.

“What’s going on here?” she asked.

“War is coming,” said Valdaris. “But this is worse than I expected.”

Yemalla turned and eyed the pair, impatient and bouncing on her feet.

“Enough chatter, yeah?” she said. “We been needin’ a buster soon.”

Alessa looked to Valdaris.

Trouble ahead, he answered.

She saw what he meant around the next bend. The cliff stopped a few feet above the street in a long, narrow opening with countless children running in and out. Selvan soldiers stood guard on roofs and two stone turrets where the street climbed back toward the upper city. Some of the older children and teens yelled at a large iron gate blocking their way, most bartering with a crowd of Selvans through the gate’s thick bars while other children yelled at the soldiers, some even throwing what looked like small bags that popped in explosions of black oil where they hit.

Alessa didn’t notice the rumbling at first. Rhythmic thuds echoed off the cliff above from farther up the road, sending faint vibrations up her feet and legs from the stone tiles below. The air felt tight, as though the street were holding its breath.

A horn called out just as a host of Selvan soldiers came into view. Bells rang across the city. Hundreds of musketeers marched toward the gate in a menacing parade, their bayonets glimmering overhead as the army approached.

“What—”

Screams and gunfire cut her question short. Alessa nearly cried out herself in abject horror. The gunners above fired into the crowd of children as the Selvan merchants beyond the gate scattered in panic. At least a dozen young bodies lay still across the roadway.

Alessa froze. She’d seen the cruelty of draemeir hosts before, entire worlds trapped in cycles of violence, chaos, and despair. But not like this.

“C’mon, buster!” yelled Yemalla.

Alessa assumed she was talking to Valdaris, but he was gone.

Yemalla darted for shelter in a doorway and motioned frantically for Alessa to join her just as Selvans aimed down with their muskets. Alessa caught sight of their escorts from earlier charging from behind. To her surprise, they fired on the men above.

“We have to go!” said one of the musketeers. “The whole port’s under attack!”

“They been after the dives, yeah?” said Yemalla.

The musketeers stared at the girl, confused terror playing across their features.

“We can’t leave them!” yelled Alessa, pointing at the children. But as she watched, the children scattered in a blur of motion.

Then the cliff itself came alive. Rocks broke away from the cliff wall in small clusters, crashing down to the street below and flattening one of the Selvan turrets. The iron gate screeched and tumbled forward with a sharp clang.

Beady green eyes stared down on the Selvan army, creeping out from wide holes now dotting the cliff as far as Alessa could see. Long, narrow heads guarded by plates of tan-colored bone waited at the edge of each hole. Like the salamands she’d encountered in the Siivalan heartwoods, she recognized the shapes only from recordings and fossils.

She hoped she was wrong. But her gut said she wasn’t, and she turned to run as fast and far as her legs would take her. She knew it wouldn’t be enough.

Protect the children.

An image of the caves flashed through her mind. She turned back and saw children running through the entrance under the cliffs. The idea of following them filled her with dread, but then she heard screams and another horn from behind. Children were clamoring down from the teetering buildings and running toward the cliffs with abandon.

Yemalla yanked on Alessa’s wrists, pointing back up the street where another company of Selvan musketeers was marching toward them.

“They been comin’!” she yelled. “C’mon, i’s safe in the dives, yeah?”

Despite the monsters looming above, Alessa was inclined to agree. She darted after Yemalla, the two escorts running close behind. Gunshots filled the air. Musket balls skipped off the tiles around their feet as a cannonball crashed into the rocks above. Debris fell across the street as they ducked for cover.

Yemalla reached the cliff first, diving into the crevice before turning and waving wildly for the others to follow. Alessa jumped forward with a roll as more rock crashed down from above, crawling on her hands and knees to chase after Yemalla’s shadow. When she turned back, she watched the closer musketeer hesitate at the opening, only his legs and waist visible below the cliff. The sharp clacks of a dozen musket balls peppered the cliffside, and the musketeer’s legs crumbed as he fell in a heap of blood and tattered flesh. The second Selvan limped past and dove for the entrance, moaning as he crawled through.

Then came the darkness.

And the screams.

Chapter 66
The Gammeda Strain

Alessa pulled the Selvan behind her despite his protests. She kept expecting more musket shots to catch them in the crevice, but none came. Shadows danced across the entrance as countless dark shapes pounced on the enemy army from above. Popping, futile gunshots slowly gave way to tortured screams.

She shivered but pressed on, doing her best to track Yemalla’s movements. Eventually, the crevice opened into an enormous chamber with thick rock columns and eerie orange and red lights flickering ahead. The cave ceiling was still too low to stand upright, but children darted back and forth behind the lights with cackling giggles that chilled Alessa to the bone.

“We shouldn’t be here,” said the Selvan beside her.

“Y’re been comin’, yeah?” asked Yemalla. “There been some got through. We been needin’ a buster soon.”

Alessa braced but knew they had no choice but to follow. She tapped at her wristband and linked with the rod at her hip — though foreign, the weapon accepted the connection. The cold energy passing through her bones did little for her nerves. She’d never used a sword in her life.

They continued after the girl, and Alessa felt a sharp tug on her arm just as her foot splashed in a pool of water.

“Watch your step,” said the Selvan, pulling her back. “These caves are full of skelva dives.”

Skelva. Alessa knew the name from stories of the Fall and the few recovered specimens she’d seen in Ambrove’s museums.

“What do you mean ‘dives’?” she asked.

As she looked closer, she made out small shapes like squid circling the pool, stirring the water so debris and oil collected in the middle. Water in other pools around them was spinning too, some pools lit by flames flickering from the oily centers.

“These pools are full of skelva spawn,” said the Selvan. “Those… things. We call ‘em dives because the children swim down to collect ink sacks once the skelva start to mature.”

“Good f’r writin’ an’ burnin’, yeah?” said Yemalla. “C’mon, d’em busters ahead.”

Alessa watched orange light shimmer across the black and purple stains on Yemalla’s skin and stopped.

“You make these children swim with those monsters?” she said. “No wonder they hate you.”

“Gammedan children are the only ones who can!” he answered with a shrill whisper. “The skelva kill adults and any Selvan that tries. And most of these aren’t even children! They stop aging after diving. We don’t even know how old some are.”

The idea of risking lives in pools of flesh-eating monsters, children or not, horrified Alessa. All for the sake of ink and oil. The thought made her gag.

Faint yells and screams echoed off the cave walls, stealing her chance at a rebuke. The noise came from ahead.

Alessa looked down at the rod in her hand. Hope this works. She closed her eyes, letting her awareness pass into the weapon and willing the blade to appear. Her hand jerked back and the air crackled with sparks and energy. She opened her eyes and laughed.

The basilica blade was stuck in the rock column to her right, red sparks skipping off the edge where sword met stone.

“Hey, watch it!” said the Selvan. “How…”

She pulled the blade free just as Yemalla ducked for cover behind the next column, motioning for them to do the same. Before they could, three Selvan sharpshooters jumped out, muskets aimed at Alessa and the Selvan beside her.

“Daezuyn or Morraedd?” asked the closest Selvan. “Daezuyn or Morraedd?!”

“Morr—”

The Selvan cut off his answer as the three sharpshooters stiffened. They braced for the kick of their guns but never got the chance to fire.

A fierce shriek split the air as a blur of motion and wriggling chaos slammed into the Selvans. A dozen thin tentacles shot out, impaling the two Selvans still standing while the third cried out from under the weight of the monster’s body. The creature, easily twice the size of a grown man, rolled as its sharp fangs ripped into the downed Selvan and dragged all three into the nearest pool.

Alessa didn’t wait to see more. She ran to Yemalla, the Selvan escort close on her heels, and all three scrambled deeper into the cave. Gurgling screams and splashing from behind clashed with the clacks of their boots on the cave floor. They reached a wall where a small gap fed into a tunnel — Alessa followed Yemalla through without question.

Darkness closed in, but soon the tunnel widened into a tall crevice with bowls of flaming oil scattered along the edges. Alessa’s nose burned from the sweet, sickly smell and her eyes watered from the fumes. More light flickered from gaps in the deep red walls as they passed, and Alessa spotted children huddled in the neighboring tunnels.

“We been safer here, yeah?” said Yemalla. She stopped by one of the bowls and warmed her hands.

“What’s going on here?” said Alessa. “Why are Selvans attacking their own?”

The Selvan escort limped closer, settling his musket against the wall.

“Daezuyn is one of the Maldan lords,” he said. “We were warned other soldiers might turn and attack you if the creatures from Pallados showed up. That’s what we thought we were fighting until those companies arrived…”

He looked back the way they came.

“This is something else,” he said. “Civil war… Daezuyn’s ambitious. He must’ve thought the Naemreddan invasion the perfect opportunity to seize Gammeda for himself. Starting with the skelva dives.”

“Them busters been gettin’ more than they bargained for, yeah?” said Yemalla.

Alessa shuddered and drew closer to the flames. The caves were cold, a damp chill that set in her bones like a fever.

The Selvan bent over, tearing at his pants where a musket ball had cut across his shin. He’d need stitches, but from a quick scan Alessa thought he’d be fine. She only caught sight of green eyes behind him as he pulled a hunting knife from his belt.

“Watch—”

The warning caught in her throat. Grey tentacles pierced through the man’s stomach and chest, then pulled him into the darkness. He didn’t make a sound. Alessa felt blood dripping down her cheeks, mingled with cold sweat. She stared into the shadows, heart racing and unable to move.

Her sensors flickered in warning this time, but she remained frozen as the monster returned. Yemalla continued warming her hands over the fire as though nothing were wrong. The creature crawled out from the tunnel, bundles of its thin tentacles acting as legs it used to push forward and hang from the crevice walls. Its long, bone-crested head came to rest inches from Alessa’s face, blood dripping from its fangs and four green eyes locked on hers.

“Y’re been needin’ some dye, yeah?” said Yemalla.

She reached into a gap in the wall beside her and pulled out a small, filmy sack. Alessa saw her hold out the jiggling substance from the corner of her eye, but she couldn’t look away. Her body was shaking. The monster hissed, a rasping noise like a faint snarl, but Yemalla stepped closer and burst the sack over Alessa’s head.

Ink spilled over her hair and face, stinging where it touched like vinegar in a wound. She inhaled sharply, closing her eyes and clenching her fists as the pain grew worse. But then, slowly, the monster’s hissing grew quiet and faint scratching sounds from above announced it was moving away. She risked wiping her eyes and looked up in time to watch grey tentacles disappear into the crevice wall.

Alessa sighed with relief, but tears trickled over the ink, sweat, and blood still dripping down her cheeks. Her grip tightened around the sword at her side, a weapon of wonders she’d been too struck with terror to wield. Quiet sobs shook her shoulders as she took one broken breath, then another.

“Y’re been lucky, yeah?” said Yemalla. “Skelva done know y’re not a threat but still needin’ food from time t’ time, yeah? Now ye been dyed they been leavin’ ye alone.”

Yemalla kept talking but the words glanced off Alessa’s mind. She tapped off her cybernetics and sat back against the cave wall, numb to the ink on her skin and the sights and sounds and smells around her.

Time slipped by — she wasn’t sure how long. More gunshots and screams echoed through the caves, but the sounds were distant, more a dream than an imminent threat.

Even when a gloved hand waved across her view of the wall ahead, it took her a moment to come to.

“What?” she said.

Valdaris knelt beside her.

“Are you alright?”

He smelled of blood. Black and dark purple stains marred the military jacket under his cloak. The cloak itself, deep navy and fading in and out of focus as she watched, was spotless, so she let her eyes drift up and down as he sat there waiting.

“You’re a fool,” he said, face calm but sapphire eyes stern and staring through her.

She looked up. The words might have cut deep were she not still numb and drifting in the hazy aftermath of a nightmare.

“She done been through somethin’ fierce,” said Yemalla beside her. “But she been dyed proper while ye been bustin’ off, yeah?”

“Thank you,” said Valdaris. “Come on, let’s get back to the others.”

He reached out and gently helped Alessa to her feet.

“Where were you?” she asked. She had no force to put behind the question.

“Busy,” he answered as they walked back through the tunnel. “You know… never mind.”

She noticed Yemalla and some of the other children following. Most kept to the shadows, but Yemalla stepped up beside Valdaris.

“You left me,” said Alessa. Her foot skipped off water from a skelva pool, but Valdaris pulled her forward toward the cave entrance. The thin line of light ahead seared her vision and she raised her free arm to cover her face.

“I had to stop the attack,” said Valdaris. “I thought you’d be safe with them. I had no idea you were so… resistant.”

“Resistant?”

“Come on.”

He led them forward, and an eerie silence filled the cave. The children watched from the shadows, sinister laughter replaced by curious, gleaming eyes flickering behind flaming pools to either side. Alessa’s legs felt weak, and her feet dragged across the cave floor beside where the basilica blade skidded along in a line of red sparks. When they reached the entrance, Valdaris had to lower her carefully into the crevice so she could crawl out, but her arms buckled under her weight.

She paused as Valdaris and Yemalla crawled past. Something was wrong. She tapped at her wrist, unable to remember turning off her sensors, but they came back on with a barrage of alarms. The sword flashed yellow on her display and retracted as she watched. She pulled the rod to her hip and felt a gentle thud as it locked to her belt. As she brought her hand back up, she saw the problem: the yellow, gilden strain inside her now competed with a red draemeir strain fighting for control of her body.

And mind, she realized, shaking herself free of the shock from the skelva’s attack and pushing herself up. Her head hit a sharp edge on the crevice ceiling.

“Scheth!” she cursed, loud enough for the pair ahead to look back.

“Are you alright?” asked Valdaris.

“Stop asking me that,” she spat. “How in schatha do I have another strain inside me now?”

“Like I said, resistant,” said Valdaris. “It shouldn’t be possible, but by resisting the gilden strain you’ve left yourself vulnerable to others.”

The fever made sense now.

“Will I be alright?” asked Alessa.

“I doubt you’ll last long with two hostile strains warring inside you,” he said. “Let’s get back to the others.”

“Podarrek managed,” she said. She thought back to the Daruman warrior with a twinge of guilt. He’d scared her, and part of her was glad he hadn’t survived the island.

Valdaris continued in silence. After a few more feet, the trio reached the ruined street outside the cave.

Bodies were everywhere. Alessa spotted more than one hulking corpse of the skelva monsters, grey tentacles splattered over piles of Selvan soldiers like mops tossed on a refuse heap.

“There been more busters comin’ up ahead,” said Yemalla.

“We’ll manage,” said Valdaris.

To Alessa’s surprise, he pulled a wooden pistol from his hip as he turned, holding the ancient weapon by his side as he continued down the street.

“Y’re been needin’ more d’en one bullet, buster.”

A few steps past the first buildings, five Selvan sharpshooters leapt out from alleys on either side. Valdaris was faster. He snapped up the pistol and fired. A puff of white smoke obscured his hand and the air cracked overhead — tiny fissures broke the space above each sharpshooter and all five men fell dead in bursts of red spray.

Valdaris returned the pistol to its holster and turned back to Alessa.

“There are those who would kill to wield this kind of power,” he said. “And your reluctance, however commendable, is misplaced — and worse, it’s killing you. Ambrove is gone. Along with the lies it believed about me.”

He paused, sighing, then turned back down the street.

“You have to let go.”

Chapter 67
A Knight Falls

Falcen Boagh woke to sharp pain in his chest and a parched throat. Embers from a small fire glowed and crackled a few feet away. His head burned, and thoughts came and went without sticking.

“Finally awake, eh?” asked Sevora. The Siivalan grabbed his chin, turning his head this way and that while looking him over. “Looks fine to me.”

Each turn of his head sent a jolt of pain down his neck. He was too weak to object. And behind her usual fiery self, Falcen sensed a hint of real concern. If anything, she seemed shaken, unsure of herself. He caught himself staring, perplexed, and looked away just as Daggen joined them.

“You’re heavier than you look, you know,” said Daggen. “We had to drag you away from the battlefield, and then some. Those bastards kept at our trail for three days, and I doubt they’ll let up for long.”

“What happened?” asked Falcen. “I feel like someone stomped on my chest while I slept.”

“The draemeir, that’s what happened,” said Daggen. “Never seen anything like it.”

Falcen remembered the dark specters rising over the dead, but little else. He sat up, leaning against a tall rock behind him as he ran a quick scan, but his armor and vitals were fine.

“I blacked out?”

Sevora nodded. “You took a hit to the chest from those ghosts and went down like a gizza queen. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I think so,” he said, though he felt dizzy from pushing himself up. His neck was still stiff as he turned to look around. “Where are we?”

“Back in the Savolor mountains,” said Sevora. “They’ve pushed us back into the middle passes. It’d take a week to make our way back around to the battle without taking on our pursuers.”

“So what now?”

“Now, we take the passes straight through to the capital and hope the Malda has a better idea how to fight an army you can’t kill.”

She looked angrier than usual, but Falcen realized she was watching over his shoulder. And her arms were trembling — whether from anger or fear, he couldn’t tell. Leaves rustled from behind the rock, and soon another Siivalan came around the bend.

“Ah, he’s awake,” said the woman. She looked to be in her early twenties at most. “They’re saying we should break camp now that sun’s up.”

“Tell them to set off,” said Sevora. “We’ll be close behind.”

The woman nodded, her features tight but deferential, and scurried back the way she came.

“What’s that about?” asked Falcen.

Sevora shrugged, but she looked bothered.

“Let’s just say my standing hasn’t improved since you left for Selvar, even if I’m now the ranking kossa in the company.” She toyed with a sharp, curved weapon at her side. “Not sure they know how to take it now that they’ve seen what I can do.”

She returned the weapon to her belt and grabbed her sword. Falcen recognized the korossa from their brief time with the Gildramor, before he vanished on their way to the heartwoods. He thought to ask how she came by it, and what happened to her own sword, but he’d learned to let Sevora set the pace if he wanted the conversation to stay amicable — which he did.

“Another thing before we go,” said Daggen. “Maldeem’s coming.”

“He’s recovered?” asked Falcen, stunned. Their commander had been in no shape for travel last they saw him, and with the dark strain taking hold, Falcen wasn’t sure they wanted him loose.

“He must be,” said Daggen. “No comms yet, but my tracker shows him making daily progress right in our direction. He should reach us in a few hours.”

Falcen wasn’t sure how to take the news. He mulled it over as they broke camp and joined the other Siivalans deeper in the woods.

Maldeem had been his commander ever since his enhancements. Most of what made him a knight came from Maldeem, and though a hard man, he was one of the greatest basilicas in the entire Ambrove Collective. His draemeir infection had them all scared, but at least in the heartwoods he’d been subdued. Now, they’d more than likely be forced to fight their leader head-on.

Falcen didn’t like their chances.

They continued climbing through the forest until they hit a narrow path hidden in the evergreens. The pass took them through a long gap with spring water falling from either side, soaking their clothes and submerging their feet in a shallow stream. Falcen found the cool, clear water refreshing and stopped more than once to take quick gulps, but Daggen armored up and kept his helmet locked until they reached the other side.

“You’re like a child playing in the rain,” said Sevora.

Falcen shrugged and let more water splash over his face. To his surprise, Sevora laughed, a clear, bright sound he wouldn’t have imagined from her. The sound seemed to surprise her too, like she hadn’t laughed in weeks. He supposed that was probably true. She kept her eyes forward and shuffled along between the springs, but every few paces she held out her hand and let the water glide over her palm.

The pass eventually opened into a long valley traveling north between the mountains, lush forest interrupted by thin meadows and a clear river cutting through the valley. After another hour following the river, they reached what looked like the remains of a town, wooden structures charred and broken in black heaps along the riverbank.

“Welcome to Rovellan,” said Sevora. “One of the first towns hit by the dragons.”

Daggen reached for his sword.

“Are we safe?”

“We should be. There aren’t many caves and glens in these mountains we didn’t clear. It was a hard year.”

Falcen looked up the slopes on either side of the valley, but the forests were calm and the skies clear. If not for the desolate, ruined space before them, he’d have thought this valley one of the most peaceful places he’d ever been. Green spaces in Ambrovian cities were artificial, sparce parks and canals constrained by square streets and towers — safe and clean, but never free. Here, he could breathe.

“Daggen, how close is the commander?” asked Falcen.

Daggen tapped at his wrist and a readout of the surrounding mountains appeared between them. Flickering beams of orange light outlined the mountains, faint yellow dots showed their position by the river, and a bright red dot sped toward them between the peaks to the west.

“Minutes,” said the knight, turning off the display.

Sevora nodded and set off toward the other Siivalans. Whatever tensions remained between them, her company was quick to listen and made for the nearby woods.

“I’ll take cover in that building there,” she said once she returned. Her features flickered from shaken and tense to steely resolve, but the facade was weak. Her eye twitched at least once as she spoke despite a quick turn away. She was clearly struggling.

The knights watched her leave, then turned and nodded, both with their hands on their basilica rods while looking to the sky. They didn’t want to antagonize Maldeem, but neither knew what to expect.

Falcen glanced down to watch Sevora duck under a fallen beam. The charred wood was stained black by smoke and liquid fire. Her green and brown battle garb clashed with the ruined home one moment, and the next she was gone, save fleeting glimpses of her olive skin and silky black hair. He couldn’t fathom how Siivalans had mastered such stealth and grace.

“There,” said Daggen.

Falcen looked back to the mountains in time to see an armored figure linking with the nearest peak. Maldeem pulled himself forward on a line of clear energy and arced up toward the clouds. He began his fall from just above the ruined town and both knights ducked to either side, prepared for the worst. A second later, dust and ash blasted across the town in all directions. When the dust settled, Falcen caught sight of red and blue sparks as the commander drew his sword.

“Command—” began Daggen, but Maldeem’s blade was already glowing.

Falcen drew his sword in time to catch a beam of purple energy. The force threw him on his back and his shield crackled in blues and greens around his armor.

“Maldeem, stop!” yelled Daggen. He charged forward, locking blades with the commander before he could attack again, and Falcen pushed himself up while trying to catch his breath.

Maldeem retracted his helmet. Both knights gasped as they tried to reconcile their old commander with the sickly figure before them. Maldeem’s skin was tight around his bones, sun-starved white replaced by jaundiced yellow except where black veins crawled up and down his face and neck. His short beard only showed in a few tangled clumps of coarse, oily strands, and his black hair had fallen out wherever the dark veins on his scalp were thickest.

However sick he appeared, he was far from weak. The commander twisted his blade under Daggen’s and lashed out, unleashing a terrible flurry of strikes the knight barely managed to block. Falcen rushed in, but without turning Maldeem held out one hand and a blast of clear energy crashed into Falcen’s chest. He flew back even farther than before, smashing through a charred wall and landing in a pile of wood.

Falcen’s breath came in short, heaving bursts. His chest felt tight with panic. He recognized the effect. That blast of energy hadn’t come from the basilica’s armor — Maldeem was drawing power from the draemeir.

Daggen’s sword glowed hot red as he tried to subdue the commander with a blast of heat, but Maldeem’s shields blocked the rippling wave of energy before his sword slashed across Daggen’s chest. Daggen’s shields broke in a spray of blue and green sparks, and a hard kick to the chest threw him into the river.

They were running out of time. The longer they fought, and the more power Maldeem drew from the draemeir, the more the darkness would see them as a threat. They’d face worse than their commander soon if they couldn’t subdue him.

Falcen tried to right himself, stumbling over broken wood and what looked like human bone before he found a grip on the wall beside him. As he looked up, a blur of brown and green caught his attention. Sevora shot out, her teal korossa scraping across Maldeem’s shin before she spun and slashed up his chest with enough force to send him stumbling back.

She gave him no quarter. Falcen had never seen such a display of wild fury. She knocked the commander’s blade aside before catching him across the hip with another slash, then ducked as he tried to respond. She brought her korossa overhead and slammed it down on his forearm. Maldeem’s shield broke, his free hand covering his eyes as sparks skipped along his armor and faded out.

Sevora took the opportunity without hesitation, pulling her korossa back before stabbing it through Maldeem’s side. His body went stiff. The teal blade came out his back and glowed with purple and black fire. Sevora’s eyes pulsed with darkness, staring over the commander’s shoulder as though lost in a trance.

Falcen watched the pair locked in their shadowy embrace, unsure how to respond and still wrestling with the dark power clamping his chest. Though Sevora stood still, Maldeem’s right arm began to climb, basilica sword ready to strike.

Falcen acted without thought. The charred ruins exploded around him with a burst of energy as he launched himself forward, sword held out to the side in a fearsome swipe that took Maldeem’s hand clean off. He rolled into a landing and looked back to make sure Sevora was safe, but the commander’s other hand was already around her throat.

This time, he activated his sword as he jumped. The blade glowed bright red and orange as it plunged into Maldeem’s gut. He intensified the burst, staring into the commander’s dark, sickly eyes with mixed sadness and firm relief as Maldeem’s face turned to ash. The basilica sword retracted in Falcen’s hand — his mind was too numb to notice — and Maldeem’s empty armor pulled Sevora’s korossa from her hand as it fell.

It’s done. Falcen drew no comfort from the thought. Maldeem’s death made being trapped on this doomed world that much more final. There was no going back for the knights now, and no one to guide them forward.

And, he thought with a start, now they were only two.

Daggen stumbled out of the water, helmet retracted and armor dripping, as the Siivalan kossans emerged from the woods. Sevora stared ahead into empty space with an expression of pure dread.

“Are you okay?” asked Falcen. He reached for her korossa, but she shot out her hand to block him. He pulled back, alarmed, assuming at first she was being protective of her prized weapon except that her eyes flashed a warning.

“Don’t,” she said, apologetic and her voice trembling. “That sword is... I don’t know. When I stabbed him... I saw things. Felt things. It’s like his evil poured through into my veins.”

The young Siivalan from earlier came closer.

“That was incredible,” she said. She looked from Sevora to Falcen with juvenile awe. He had to remind himself how foreign basilica powers, and even draemeir powers, were to these people.

Sevora gave a stiff nod, still tense around her fellow kossans.

“Thank you,” she said to Falcen. “I couldn’t move, but I saw. You saved me.”

She smiled, a small hint of that brightness from earlier returning.

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

Chapter 68
The Zovah’s Trail

Sevora basked in darkness. It should have terrified her, but it didn’t. If anything, it was the first thing in days to calm her nerves.

When her korossa cut into Maldeem’s poisoned flesh, malice rushed in just like when she’d blocked attacks from the Athamein monks. Their energy flooded her mind with malevolent will, twisting her thoughts and even making her doubt her allegiance. Every fiber of her being had wanted to join the Naemreddan onslaught, just for a moment.

This was so much worse. Maldeem’s mind had been connected to something far more sinister than a Naemreddan cult. Her awareness soared over the Savolors to the edge of her homeland, speeding across the rubeline treetops until the taller blackwoods blocked her path with their dark limbs and gold-trimmed leaves.

To her horror, one of the taller blackwoods tilted, then crashed to the forest floor amidst screams from her people below. Platforms toppled and men, women, and children fell from the walkways and bridges with cries of despair. A dark, tar-like substance climbed up the wood and resin in every direction, crumbling homes, turning blackwood grey with death, and swallowing the flesh of anyone too slow or stunned to flee.

Sevora’s mind rushed through the chaos, unable to look away or guide her path, until her awareness stopped mere feet from the Pallados monster. The zovakem prime stared through her with its grey, lifeless eyes, a cloak of shadows swirling over its body and trailing across the dirt. Its clawed feet dug into the soil and its swirling purple and blue skin basked and glowed in the air of death and decay around it. One clawed hand scratched across a blackwood trunk to its left. The other clutched at the frayed hilt of a korossa.

She recognized the sword at once. Seddram Peltan’s lackluster korossa, once a symbol of her former captain’s low status and undeserved rank, glowed with turquoise energy. The monster held it out and seemed to follow the blade forward. Images of a red harbor city and a girl dressed in Siivalan colors flashed through Sevora’s mind.

When the vision collapsed, she felt an irresistible urge to hunt down and destroy the child, so blinded by destructive rage that it took a shake of her head to recognize the Selvan heiress.

“Why is everyone so damned focused on this little girl,” said Sevora.

“The Selvan girl?” asked Falcen. He looked reluctant to go down that path again, and Sevora couldn’t blame him. Their hunt for the Kanarian heiress at Corrim’s behest — may the arrogant fool rest in peace — led to the deaths of Corrim and most of Sevora’s first command.

“We ran into more zovakem in the Palladon islands... and their prime is after her,” said Sevora. “I couldn’t make out the rest.”

Daggen, Falcen, and Noillin cocked their heads, but she didn’t feel like sharing more. The thought of such evil loose in her homeland made her shudder, but the damage was done. She could feel the monster’s will moving on, lingering in her mind like a festering sore — it wanted the child, and nothing else mattered.

“We should salvage what we can of the armor,” said Daggen after a pause.

Falcen nodded and knelt beside Maldeem’s ashes. He looked up at Sevora and motioned to her korossa, still sticking out from the empty armor. She hesitated, then thought how it must look to the young kossa beside her, seeing a sword sister neglecting such a precious weapon. She wasn’t about to lose what little respect she’d managed to regain. Her hand closed around the hilt and an image of a burning city flashed through her mind. She shook it away, ignoring the acute nausea and rush of heat leaving her body as she planted one foot on the basilica armor and pulled the blade free.

A second later, she was hanging limp from Falcen’s arms with her sword loose in her hand beside her.

“I have you,” he said, studying her from above with concern and... something else.

“I’m okay,” she replied, but it took her a moment to regain her balance as he helped her up.

She blushed, more embarrassed than flustered, sure that Noillin and the others would never let her live this up. But Noillin’s eyes were fixed on the taldrine korossa. The teal blade flickered with short bursts of black and purple fire. Even Falcen was staring, and she had to give him a stern look before he realized he was still holding her arm and pulled away.

She sheathed her weapon, grateful the flames didn’t burn through the scabbard. Falcen knelt once more by Maldeem’s armor and tapped at his wrist. Sevora watched from behind, fascinated, as much by the knight’s technology as by his growing and obvious interest in her. She could use the distraction.

Maldeem’s armor retracted into the knight’s belt in a flash of red light, but a few pieces of bent metal fell to the charred soil below in a rush of yellow sparks. Falcen grabbed Maldeem’s belt, twisting its sealed clasp as thin lines of red traveled across the dark metal and up to his wrist.

“Done,” said the knight. He retrieved Maldeem’s sword and locked it to his belt with a metallic thud. “We’ll have to bury what’s left.”

“Why?” asked Noillin.

“Unless you want your bags catching fire or a hole blown through you when they destabilize...”

Noillin looked down at the broken metal, bent and sparking where Falcen and Sevora had cut through, and stepped back.

Falcen smiled and set about burying the remaining pieces. Sevora rejoined the kossans, but her eyes returned to the knight more than once as the Siivalans flocked around her. The fight with Maldeem seemed to lock her authority in place, and most stared openly with something between fear and awe. Their attention made her heart race and chest tighten. Her need for their respect had dwindled, replaced by bitterness and a growing resentment toward how easily her people could be swayed. It took the faintest rumors of betrayal for them to cast her aside, and displays of power none of them understood to just as quickly take her back.

But while being so gullible had cost them nothing, it felt like it had cost her everything. She wasn’t sure she’d ever breathe again without that sharp clench in her chest.

Scheth to them all, she thought.

Falcen and Daggen seemed troubled, and she wondered if they meant to pay their respects to their fallen commander. Neither said a word, and she thought it best to leave them to their own traditions. She had some notion of what it was like being forced to kill a traitorous superior. Or trying, at least. She’d leave them to their grief.

Sevora thought she heard the crack of gunpowder while they checked their packs and prepared to set off. None of the others heard anything, but all agreed they’d lingered too long and the company continued along the river. A few paces on, they all stopped to listen. A distinct crackling filled the air.

“We should put some distance between us and the armor scraps,” said Falcen.

Sevora let Falcen catch up as they walked without being too obvious. A moment later, three loud explosions popped behind them. The blasts were powerful enough to feel heat and wind rush through her hair and Sevora lurched to the side. She only exaggerated a little and Falcen didn’t seem to notice — as hoped, he caught her and pulled her up, breathing fast behind her and his metal gauntlets chilling her arms.

“Thank you,” she said with a smooth lull. He smiled, face red, and she knew she had him.

They walked side-by-side and the next hour passed without further disruption. Sevora forgot how large a town Rovellan had been. Though quaint in feel and set in the narrow space between wooded slopes and the river, the town stretched on for quite some distance before the mountains closed in. The company crossed an arched rubeline bridge and prepared to follow the path through the mountains when Sevora held up her hand. The kossans ducked for cover and the knights beside her put their hands to their hips. She saw something in the woods.

There. She was sure this time. A blur of purple and blue skipped across the river. Another followed. Falcen and Daggen activated their swords and locked their helmets, but she signaled caution.

“Look,” said Falcen. He held out his arm, low to the ground, and let an orange display of the ravine ahead flash out between them. Hundreds of red dots climbed down the western slope into the mountain pass.

“What do we do?” asked Daggen.

“We follow,” said Sevora. Part of her still felt the dark’s pull and the urge to join the monsters in their hunt, but the plan made sense. “We can pursue them at a safe distance or risk getting run down by the Naemreddans. Taking the mountain pass to Selvandrea is still our best bet.”

Falcen nodded and the trio watched the display until the horde passed beyond the knight’s range. Sevora kept quiet and her eyes locked on the woods for some time until she dared approach the other kossans.

“Were those...” began Noillin, her voice trailing off as she stared back toward the ravine.

“Yes,” said Sevora. “The monsters we cleared from Kartumol and Heldriss. The same monsters I saw in the Palladons.”

Noillin’s hanging jaw made Sevora want to throw her in the river. Breddel had quelled all rumors of the monsters’ existence. She’d silenced witnesses from Mindan and barred entry to Kartumol under the pretense of suspected dragons in the area. Sevora’s insistence the zovakem were real made it all the easier for the Siivalan tribunal to cast her aside. And the Selvans were just as eager to keep the monsters, and their vulnerability to them, a secret.

Now the Siivalans, both here and in Aldruvia, knew the truth. To Sevora, it was far too late. She’d resent those who ostracized her to her dying breath.

For now, there was work to be done. And however she felt about her mother and the tribunals, Siivala was her home. The zovakem would pay for what they did, first to Heldriss and now the heartwoods.

The kossans regrouped, hesitant but ready to follow. Most were gripping their korossas to bolster their resolve. By habit Sevora did the same, pulling back sharply as another wave of nausea passed through her and flickering images of the zovakem prime danced across her vision.

The sickness and sight of her enemy only doubled her anger. She gripped her sword even tighter, stepping forward with the Ambrovian knights close behind, and her hunt for the zovakem began.

She swore then and there the prime would die by her hand.

Chapter 69
Return of the Daruman

Rhyn felt all sorts of funny.

She knew the others were worried about her so she tried to act tough. She was happier now that she knew Miss Elaryn was back, but her voice was all jumbled. She kept popping up at strange moments when the others weren’t looking, always whispering things quickly without explaining.

The sword... The prince... The lord... The dagger... The prince... The sword.

As if hearing all the other voices wasn’t tough enough. She just wanted some peace and quiet. Which made her feel bad, of course, because Miss Elaryn and Miss Mella and Mister Elzar, and all the others really, were just looking out for her.

She had to show she could look out for herself.

A horn called out somewhere across the city, a nice, pretty, booming sound that made her feel brave. The others looked away as another horn blared, and she saw her chance.

A quick duck behind a cart was all it took, and she slipped through an open door before anyone noticed. The tall home had a narrow hall lined with boring pictures, all ships on open water with fish and gulls flapping about — no trees, no ladies, no battles, no fruit. Just big boats and big water.

“Rhyn!” she heard Mella call out from the street in that nice, pretty voice of hers. But Rhyn had to do this. And all the angry voices said something big was about to happen.

“Hey, what do ya think you’re doin’ in my house?” said a big, gruff-looking woman from a tiny kitchen to the right. She looked so much like the old merchant’s wife it was scary. She even had the moldy stained apron to match.

“Uh oh,” said Rhyn, and she was off down the hall. Lucky for her, it went straight through the house and opened to another red-paved street. She didn’t like all the red, nice as everything looked. It reminded her of rich folk from the big city, always angry and busy getting angrier. That’s how this whole place felt.

Mister Elzar and some soldiers from the ship were calling her name now too. She knew they’d worry, but she was less sad now that she was on her own and the horns made her feel like it was time for an adventure.

She followed another horn call up the next street as everyone ran away. She wasn’t sure what all the fuss was about — she could see the big parade of soldiers coming her way. The pointy knives above their guns looked scary, and none of them looked happy like a parade was supposed to, but Rhyn didn’t mind. She liked their uniforms.

The soldiers stopped ahead and split into groups, banging on doors and climbing up to the windows and balconies. One group saw her in the street and started coming over, but she’d decided they weren’t a parade after all. She turned and slipped between some sailor-looking fellows unloading big bags from a cart. They were swearing and guffawing like all the commotion ahead was just an average day, taking turns dropping their bags down a chute built into the wall of a big shop with long windows and pretty jewels of all sorts on display.

She saw an orange bracelet that reminded her of Miss Mella’s home, with all the tall trees and bright orange lamps, and decided to go in and look. Just in time, too. A little girl raced through the street, faster than anyone she’d ever seen except maybe Mister Vald. One of the soldiers tumbled with something sticking out of his chest. It looked like a knife.

Bells chimed overhead as Rhyn pushed the door the rest of the way and let it close behind her. When she looked back out the long, crystal-clear windows, a big blur of grey tentacles tore through the soldiers and tossed them aside like ragdolls. More soldiers up the street fired at the monster, but their bullets skipped off the beigey bone plates on its long head before it let out a terrible shriek and disappeared into an alley.

“I wondered when I might see you again,” came a voice from behind her. It sounded familiar.

“Mister Podarrek? We thought you got lost in the caves.”

The prince stepped out from the shadows, but they seemed to follow him like a dark cloud. Oil lamps hanging from wooden pillars flickered and waned with every step he took. Glass displays shuddered as he passed, and Rhyn thought she spotted legs twitching from behind a booth before the Daruman’s figure blocked her view.

“Oh, I did indeed, little one,” said Podarrek. “But I found my way back.”

He looked different now. He still wore his fancy longsword and the leather getup Miss Elaryn always had on, but his eyes were red, like he’d had a bad sleep, and he wore a brown cloak like the nasty monks, except his was so dirty it almost looked black.

He took another step forward, limping and slouched over, but his red eyes never left her. Rhyn noticed beautiful pearls of all sizes in the glass displays — they were milky white and gold at first but started glowing in eerie reds and purples as he came closer. He passed his hand over the closest display, and the pearls cracked. Their light went out with terrible pops, leaving behind charred black pieces like used up wood in a campfire.

“Hey, stop it!” she said. She didn’t like what he was doing, whatever it was.

He pulled back his hand, staring at his fingers as though surprised. His other hand closed around the hilt at his side, but the bells over the door chimed behind Rhyn. Mister Elzar and Miss Mella came charging in, both out of breath but letting out big sighs of relief. Even though her adventure was over, she was sure glad they were there.

When she turned back around, the prince was gone.

“Rhynwhen!” said Elzar between breaths. He wasn’t yelling or angry, but he had that stern voice grown-ups get when they’re worried sick about something. She supposed it must be her fault.

“Are you alright?” asked Mella. “Where’d you go? This city isn’t safe.”

More guns popped out in the street, but they sounded farther away.

“We should get away from the windows,” said Elzar.

Rhyn liked that idea, remembering the scary monster and how quickly it killed the soldiers from the fake parade. But she wasn’t so sure it was safe in here either.

“The prince—” she started, but Miss Mella was looking over her shoulder with wide eyes. “What is it?”

“Are those...”

Elzar stepped up beside her, and his eyes went wide too. They were both looking at the display beside Rhyn. She’d edged closer as they came in, and the pearls in the necklaces and bracelets were all glowing in blue and green swirls like a winter aurora. She stepped closer and the light grew so bright it rippled through the glass and all across the ceiling above.

“So pretty,” she said.

Mella and Elzar came closer, and now the pearls began to shake. Tiny ripples of gold light mixed with the green and blue, and the pearls shook so hard they started to bump against the glass.

“What’s happening?” asked Mella, but Rhyn had no idea.

The bells chimed once more, and all three were about to turn when every pearl in the shop exploded with bright gold light, a shimmery aurora that drowned out Rhyn’s blue-green in mesmerizing waves of radiance. Watching made Rhyn dizzy. She clutched Elzar’s arm to steady herself but the room kept spinning.

In a flash, the light disappeared — not just the gold, but the blue-green too. Mister Vald, Miss Alessa, and an older girl like the one she’d seen earlier in the street entered the shop.

Mister Vald was covered in blood. And Miss Alessa had strange purple streaks down her face and neck like wine stains the merchant’s wife used to get on all her clothes. Alessa’s borrowed soldier’s jacket had blood stains too.

“That was some show there, yeah?” said the older girl. She hopped over to the nearest stand, broke the glass, fiddled around with the jewels inside, and left them all a mess like they didn’t impress her at all. “Who’s done killed the shopkeeper?”

Rhyn almost forgot. The legs behind the counter were done twitching now, and Mister Vald led the group over. He held one hand over the body, and sparkles of red and purple floated over a big hole in the dead man’s chest right where a sword cut through. Rhyn reckoned it was from Podarrek’s longsword — she always thought he was too serious, and look how he turned out.

“I think it was the prince, mister,” she said.

“What prince?” asked Elzar. “The Daruman?”

“So it seems,” said Mister Vald. “This port becomes less safe for us by the minute.”

“What’s going on here?” asked Mella.

Rhyn wanted answers too. The voices were all tipsy-turvy in her head and so many things were happening at once.

“Chaos,” said Mister Vald. “Evil’s first response to a new threat. Confuse those trying to fight back, then pick off your enemies while they’re busy making sense of it. A simple but inspired strategy.”

“So how did the Daru—”

Miss Mella cut her question short. Mister Vald’s longsword flashed into his hand in a burst of red light. Everyone turned to see why, but the shop’s windows shattered. A line of musket balls stopped in the air a foot away from Miss Alessa’s back.

Rhyn felt queasy. Mister Vald flicked his free wrist and the bullets shot back out, each one throwing its shooter back with an awful splat of red mist, but more soldiers were coming. Rhyn could hear their voices, all eager and angry and jealous like school kids fighting over a doll in the park. She wanted to get away.

A new line of soldiers formed outside the shop, but Rhyn felt something bubbling up inside her like a hot spring. The blue-green aurora came back, small at first around the nearest pearls before wild ripples shot out and filled the shop.

Home.

She heard Miss Elaryn’s whisper as pictures of a tall, shiny palace filled her mind. There was something dark and scary about the palace, but it looked nicer than this awful place with all its monsters, soldiers, and angry red rock.

“Cha’vienne!”

The sharp crack of guns firing vanished. The shop disappeared in a blur of twisting light. The whole world seemed to spin around and race by, like they were caught in a balloon being pulled away by the wind. Rhyn braced, ready for it to stop, and the group stumbled forward. Rhyn fell up to her knees in water. She was standing in a big, silver fountain with a marvelous white statue — a beautiful woman with long, wavy hair poured water from a pitcher, right on Miss Mella’s head.

Rhyn giggled, then turned and looked around the palace park with its marble walkways, lines of tall trees, and two towering mountains on either side. She’d seen them before, along with the silver benches up ahead, and her mouth watered as she remembered sitting with her legs dangling and gulping down sweet, sticky taffy.

“We’re home!” she said, though she supposed only Miss Elaryn had ever called the mountain city home too.

“Well done, Rhyn,” said Mister Vald. “But be careful. This isn’t the home you remember. Let’s just hope the good captain has done his work preparing for our arrival.”

Just then, Rhyn saw flashy red silk coming toward them past the fountain. It was angry red like the ocean city, but the man wearing it was something else entirely. He was tall, taller than Mister Vald even, with long silver hair and a crown of gold leaves on his head. He had a face she knew she recognized, and his eyes were dark green and more serious-looking than anyone she’d ever met.

“Morraedd,” said Elzar, arms tensed and hand gripped tight around his sword. Mella looked stunned by the name and reached for her sword too.

“I was wondering when you’d arrive,” said the man. “Welcome, enemies and friends, to Selvandrea.”

Chapter 70
Callum Embraya

Seddram Peltan landed on his knees. Cobblestone tiles cracked from the impact, but he doubted he’d have so much as a bruise. He was getting stronger.

He gripped Elaryn’s crescent knife and looked up. The courtyard was overshadowed by an enormous domed building, dwarfed by an even larger palatial structure with domed towers and a giant central complex shaped like a colosseum.

The Siivorium and the Malda.

Valdaris had chosen well. Seth was lucky it was night, or this courtyard would have been packed with eager politicians and disgruntled citizens. As it was, soldiers stationed by the first building’s entry stared forward, unamused but undisturbed by his entry, if they saw him at all. Torch bowls atop massive marble pillars at each corner of the courtyard cast flickering shadows over the cobblestone and masked Seth’s movements as he stepped back.

He knew other ways into the Siivorium, and this wasn’t the time.

He turned and looked out over the bustling Selvan capital. He resented the feeling of awe it gave him. He’d only been to Selvandrea once during his training with the Zirravah resistance, and the grandeur had overwhelmed him then too.

How do you stand against so powerful a foe?

The city’s most ancient structures rose in walled levels below him, each taller than the last as they climbed up the mountainside. Torchlight flickered off spiked gold towers of all sizes, ominous spires looming over the lower levels and the sea of more modern homes and buildings built beyond the city walls. The “New City,” still wealthy and grand in its own way, stretched into the valley before giving way to farmers’ fields and Selvar’s endless forests, hills, and rocky lake country beyond.

Seth found himself grateful for his enhanced vision as he made his way down to the next level. He had to pass more than one Maldan manor on the way, smaller palaces built along a wide road leading away from the Siivorium, each home to a Selvan lord. He’d have spat at each gatehouse if not for the sharpshooters and armored soldiers standing guard.

He did his best to conceal the Deldraean weapon in his hand as he walked by, which he was certain made him look all the more suspicious. He looked the part of spy or assassin, and now he supposed he’d become both.

A few steps down a long, winding stairway, he heard them. Two sets of footsteps matched his own, following from a distance as he turned into the merchant’s quarter. His muscles tensed, the malicious intent of his stalkers pulling on his nerves from afar.

So much for stealth, he thought. His presence was meant to go unnoticed, a simple task he’d failed as soon as he arrived, though he could blame Valdaris for landing him in the open. How he’d picked up a tail so quickly, however, was another matter.

He caught a quick glimpse of them from around the next bend. Their backs were turned as they rounded a corner in the stairs, but their silver and black Columa uniforms were unmistakable.

Hunters.

This was worse than he thought. He ducked into an alley and hid behind a stone exhaust shaft. The sweet smells of smoke and fresh bread filled the street. Puffs of white smoke masked his presence, but he doubted he could hide from Columa agents for long.

It was strange needing to evade the columas like a Selvan delinquent. He’d heard the stories, how they sought out young Selvans with an affinity for vocalir and forced them into training. A lifetime of service followed, wringing out every last drop of power before the vocalir adepts were never seen again.

Siivalans had no vocalir, a result of their draemeir immunity as he now knew. But the resistance had long suspected that columas were also tasked with rooting out Zirravah cells in the capital and elsewhere. Hunting spies and rebels was a trickier business than tracking down Selvan adepts, however, so the resistance remained vigilant but never shared in the dread Selvar’s young experienced once their powers emerged.

But Valdaris’s gift, the gilden strain, made Seth a target. He reached out with his senses just enough to see the columas coming his way. Each held out one arm to watch glowing pearls set in iron bands around their wrists. The pearls hummed with faint golden light, shuddering and growing brighter as the agents approached.

Seth had an advantage their usual prey lacked. He pulled his senses inward, compressing every sensation and the whole of his awareness into a compact sphere in his mind, letting the ball of emotions, thoughts, and experiences sink into his core. But instead of releasing his sphere outward, basking in the power and control the draemeir spheres allowed, he emptied his mind and waited.

Boots shuffled near the alley entrance.

“He can’t have gone far.”

“But without a trace?” replied the second agent. “Do you think he’s one of them? He could be anywhere if he has one of their orbs. How else could the light just vanish like that?”

“Check it, just in case,” said the other man.

Sure enough, the sound of a serpent blade being drawn and careful shuffling warned Seth of the fight to come. He pushed back against the bakery wall, relaxing his grip around the crescent dagger and steadying his breath. Bright Selvan steel cut through the smoke to his left, but a fresh plume of smoke obscured the man’s face. He coughed, and Seth lashed out.

A clean strike. The man choked, a gurgling sound all too familiar after Seth’s near brush with death. Before the agent’s body hit the alley floor, Seth’s crescent dagger had already left his hand and spun through the smoke before opening the second agent’s throat.

Seth opened his sphere, pulling the alley and street into his awareness, catching every drop of the agent’s blood and drawing the blood and body forward to land on his comrade’s. The crescent dagger slipped smoothly into Seth’s grip.

He smiled. He’d never seen a better pair of kills, let alone turned an ambush on unsuspecting columas. His arm sparkled with flecks of gold, and the tingling sensation he felt while making the throw began to fade. His training hadn’t included such a weapon, but the technique flowed into his mind as need struck.

Thank you, he thought, hoping Elaryn could hear.

As though in response, the flecks of gold climbed up his arm and swarmed around the dagger, melding into the bronze-colored metal until it glowed with warm energy. The entire dagger, hilt and blade, melted in his hand, cool metal liquid twisting around his fingers and climbing up his wrist. He watched, entranced, as the liquid flowed past his etched silver markings of a chain and Siivalan silver tree, the golden liquid pooling an inch below before sinking into his skin.

A gold crescent now marked his flesh, and the symbol burned. The pain was faint, and he was too fascinated to flinch or look away. As he watched, traces of silver painted a second crescent within the first. He could feel his mind link with a second weapon to match the first. Whether a gift from Elaryn or Valdaris, he couldn’t tell.

Content with his prize, he snuck back through the alley, careful to avoid the pooling blood and looking both ways for any other columas. As far as he could tell, he was alone, but he kept his senses bundled in his core to avoid attracting any more unwanted attention. If that meant fumbling through the dark until he reached the lower levels, so be it.

Passing through another alley, he made his way down a sloped street lined with dark shops and cookhouses. At least a few this high up were fronts for Maldan spywork, wealthier criminals, and a select few Siivalan resisters. He wouldn’t be able to tell which were allies in the dark, and this late at night the city’s Zirravah would be sharing pints, planning heists, or sleeping off another long day of politics and scheming.

The street ended ahead with a sharp turn left where an arched tunnel carved into the mountain. To the right, a long rail interrupted by swinging gates marked his entry to the lifts, used during the day for quick movement of goods and people between the levels. As expected, the lifts were raised and waiting. Longer stairways through the mountain tunnels or farther back along the main walls allowed those willing to go up and down at night, but the extra effort acted as sufficient barrier between the Selvan nobility and their inferiors below. Nobles who wished could take the lifts down at night, but few did.

Seth climbed over the closest gate and stepped carefully onto the adjacent lift. The platform shifted underfoot and his head spun with vertigo. The lift’s base was made from thick metal mesh like a wired fence, the gaps filled with imported Siivalan resin so those descending could see their progress and slow the lift before crashing. Seeing the far drop below did little for his nerves.

He had to steady himself on the lift’s rail before finally starting his descent. He remembered enjoying the ride his first time, though he was younger then, and facing such a fall in the dim moonlight was an altogether different prospect. Bracing, he pressed the lever on his right, slowly at first until he got a sense for the mechanism. The harder he pressed, the more pressure was released from the cables and the faster he fell.

Jagged cliffs sped by on his right, somehow more comforting to watch than the brick homes and older marble structures rising to meet him. He pressed the lever until the cables went from a shrill wine to a gentle buzz, letting himself enjoy the cool breeze rushing through his hair. By the time he slowed the lift, he was almost reluctant to leave.

Despite slowing to a crawl, the whole lift shook as it hit the ground and Seth fell forward, bent at the waist over the rail and grateful he’d avoided Selvan otus throughout the voyage from Pallados. All the same, it took some measure of self-control to avoid losing his lunch. At least there’d be dinner where he was going.

“Send it back up, Siivalan,” said a guard sitting in an enclosed gatehouse a few feet away.

Seth wondered what he’d done to earn such an unpleasant duty. Nodding, he turned back and tapped a pedal near the platform’s edge before hopping over the rail. The lever he’d used clicked back in place and the lift began its slow climb back up the cliffside.

The guard grunted as he walked by, but Seth’s mind was fixed on the downward path ahead and his stomach grumbled. Valdaris had mentioned they could live on far less food than others, but it was nice to feel human again for a change. The sounds and scents of townsfolk enjoying late dinners and sharing pints in cookhouses wafted up from the lower city. He followed his nose as much as the brighter light from tall lampposts lining the main road, letting himself drink in the illusion of a peaceful night and a city free from strife. Cities like this, the most cruel and corrupt, always hid their evil best at night, when citizens flocked together and drowned the day’s woes in spirits and forced laughter.

Seth preferred a quieter, darker spot to relieve his overstretched mind, and as it happened, the Zirravah felt the same. He forced himself past the smells coming from the city’s market core to his left, enduring another hour of hunger before finally making it outside the main gates and into the New City. New Selvandrea had grown considerably since his first visit, but the tavern he wanted was set flush against the city wall a few blocks to his right.

He entered the tall, dark building and expected to feel more relief than he did at the sight of fellow Siivalans leaning over round tables with thick mugs in hand. A thin cloud of smoke hung in the air, and as he entered it lent an ominous feel to the dark plots he was surely interrupting. All conversation ceased and all eyes turned his way. He knew to expect distrust early on, but the quiet glares of his countryfolk set him on edge.

He made a show of wiping sleep from his eyes, two fingers and thumb stretched in the sign of Sein, and most of the men and women went back to their drinks and schemes. One man, however, acknowledged him with a nod and rose from his chair, motioning with his head toward the bar.

It took Seth a moment to recognize him. Callum Embraya. He’d heard the Embraya patron was in Selvandrea, but he hadn’t imagined finding him in a Zirravah hideout. Seth had always thought him the bookish type, and everyone knew Breddel was the true head of the family. Seth would never have taken the skittish, quiet man for a fellow schemer.

“Have you eaten?” asked Callum, eyes ahead as he waited for the barkeep.

Seth shook his head.

“Good to see a friendly face, Callum.”

Callum responded with a muffled sound — Seth couldn’t make it out. The barkeep arrived a moment later with two mugs of cool maple mead.

The only question of drink at a tavern like this wasn’t what kind but how many. Selvandrea prided itself on mulled wine favored by the lords and politicians of the upper levels, but common Selvans and visiting foreigners drank maple or spiced mead by the keg. Seth had forgotten how well it went down, though he preferred something stronger, especially coming fresh from a kill.

Callum asked the barkeep to bring dinner, to which the large man grunted and set off for the kitchen. The pair sat in silence until he returned with a hot dish of steamed vegetables and Selvan elk dripping in a thick, sweet sauce. Callum remained silent as Seth wolfed the meal down, barely tasting the food and waiting the whole time for Callum to speak.

“So, what brings you to Selvandrea, Peltan?” he said at last. “I can’t imagine my daughter is here with you. The reports I’ve received about your activities of late have been... unsettling.”

“She should be on her way,” said Seth. He tried to ignore the latter remark, poorly. “In the meantime, I could use a place to stay.”

“I know a place, here in the New City. The columas check it from time to time, so you can’t stay long, but depending on your plans it’ll give you time to find better accommodations.”

“Thank you, Callum,” said Seth. He wasn’t sure how much time he’d need, but starting with Callum was as good a place as any to earn some trust in the Zirravah cell before rooting out the traitor he’d been sent to find. He’d also need a safe house for Valdaris and the others when they arrived.

“I picked up a Columa tail when I got here but shook them off,” he added. “Shouldn’t be a problem, but I was surprised to see them active at night.”

“Morraedd is rounding up every adept he can find for the forges,” said Callum. “Keeps their focus off us Siivalans for the most part. I wonder what drew them to you.”

Callum spoke like he knew the answer, or thought he did. Seth began to wonder what exactly he’d been told in reports, ones he assumed came from his devious wife. She had a talent for turning those close to her against him, and he was beginning to question his decision to go with the man. A signal in his mind told him to go anyway, so he did.

He finished another pint of smooth mead, the cool, sweet liquid gliding down before turning into a warm glow in his belly. Callum nodded to the barkeep and the pair set off. The other Siivalans stopped their hushed chatter to watch the pair leave, and Seth couldn’t help but feel the night closing in around him as they stepped out into the street.

“This way.”

Callum led him farther along the city’s main wall, a colossal expanse of enormous white stones stretching far beyond view. He found it hard to imagine how any army hoped to take such a grand city, however dwindled its defenses.

“Here,” said Callum, pointing left to a smaller house with a low porch facing the city wall. Two Siivalans sat on benches to either side of the door, and Seth’s keen eyes spotted hints of metal from pistols at their belts and a musket hidden under each bench.

Callum made the sign of Sein and stepped past the men without a word. He led Seth through the house and into the kitchen, where what looked like a pantry opened into a basement stairwell. Webs dangled overhead and the wooden stairs creaked loudly with each step. A dank musk filled the air, and the only light came from torchbowls burning in a long passage carved into the far wall. A dark presence lingered in the shadows, creeping into Seth’s awareness like a poisonous fog.

He had half a mind to summon his sword when sharp pain split his skull from behind. He fell forward from several steps up, his limbs already numb with shock. The last thing he felt before slipping into darkness was the terrible crack of his nose breaking against the basement floor.

Chapter 71
Death to the Traitor

Crusted blood cracked over Seth’s lip. Stubble fused by blood scratched at his face and neck, and his eyes were sealed.

“Where am I?” he asked.

He could tell from the air. Scents of sizzling meats and fine spices stung his broken nose, but hints of cool mountain air lingered below the surface in stark contrast to the musty basement from his most recent memory.

He tried to move, and sharp pain pulled on his shoulders and constricted his chest. Now his eyes shot open. He was strung up — he wasn’t sure for how long.

“Hey!”

This time he broke into a coughing fit, which only worsened the pain in his chest and arms. A bitter taste crawled over his tongue and made him gag with each cough.

Poison.

“Ah, awake at last,” came a voice to his left. “And with such impeccable timing. I’m pleased. After so many days, I worried good Callum here might have overestimated your endurance.”

Seth looked back and forth between the two men watching him. Callum sat in a small chair to the right, expression hidden by the shadows of tall pine logs forming the wall at his back. Opaque windows overhead let in pinks and oranges from a fading sunset, dancing across the wooden floor of what looked like a meditation chamber.

Who it belonged to set Seth’s teeth on edge.

“I take it you know who I am,” said the other man, a tall, imposing figure dressed in scarlet silk robes, his silvery hair adorned with the leaflet crown of Selvar.

Seth pulled hard on the bindings around his wrist to no avail. He considered summoning his weapons, but a flicker of malice in Morraedd’s eyes warned him off. The high lord smirked, goading him to try something.

Morraedd flicked his wrist and the air folded in a long, thin line before a fearsome sword filled the empty space. Morraedd brandished the weapon an inch from Seth’s nose, the oily tang of clean white steel piercing his senses before the blade began to glow sickly turquoise as it came closer.

“Your master isn’t the only one with tricks,” said Morraedd. “Looks familiar, no?”

Seth studied the weapon with growing rage. The sword was undeniably a korossa, though the curved blade was longer than his people’s prized weapons by close to a foot and the onyx hilt in Morraedd’s hand looked like Chazendur metal. It hummed with dark power that pulsed along the blade’s edge.

Morraedd stepped back, his motions cool and calm, then turned and slashed across Seth’s bare chest with terrible speed. The shallow cut burned his flesh, and blood trickled down to his waist. Though seething, he kept his eyes locked on the Deldraean lord.

“Resilient, indeed,” said Morraedd. “Not to mention a Zirravah spy, and servant of the man who led my daughter to her death. Quite the catch, my friend. I think I’ll keep him.”

Callum bowed his head in deference from the corner, and now Seth thrashed against his bindings with all his might. The wooden rack he was strung on cracked behind his back.

“All in good time, young one,” said Morraedd. “And you mustn’t be upset. Callum here has done more to protect your people than your entire Zirravah resistance in all its years of pathetic so-called espionage. The only reason your people still exist is because of the lengths I have gone to, caging evils and making sacrifices you couldn’t dream of.”

“Tell that to all the Siivalans who’ve died,” said Seth, “forced into service of your endless wars.”

Morraedd smiled, a look in his eyes equal parts patronizing and bitter.

“While I’d love to stay and muse over the morals of statecraft, I have other guests. I trust you can keep our new friend entertained.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Callum, pulling a simple dagger from his belt and resting it across his thigh.

Morraedd gave Seth a curt bow and exited through a corridor to the left. Seth thought to blast his way out with a draemeir sphere, but his senses were numb from pain in the back of his head and the lingering effects of whatever poison they’d fed him. He felt himself drift away, dazed and dreaming until Callum’s voice woke him from his stupor. The sunset was gone, replaced by the first shadows of night.

“It didn’t have to come to this, you know,” said Callum, rising. “But you’re lucky to be alive. If we’d known beforehand you were a Zirravah empathizer, I’d never have allowed my daughters to fall under your command. I hold you responsible for all that’s befallen them in the years since.”

“And what about you?” said Seth. “How many others from our people have you served up to Morraedd? I should cut you down where you stand. In fact...”

He summoned what power he could and felt Elaryn’s crescent dagger fill his hand. A quick twist positioned the blade, and he cut his hand free with a hard jerk. Callum lunged forward, but cool energy soothed Seth’s nerves as his heightened senses rushed back in. He twisted with all his might and used his bound hand to pull the wooden rack between himself and the Embraya patron, cutting himself free once the rack tilted and his feet touched the chamber floor.

“What’s your plan?” asked Callum, glaring through the rack. “You’ve nowhere to go, even if by some miracle you made it past the palace guards, patrols in the city, the Selvan army beyond the walls... you’re ours, now.”

Seth linked with the rack, letting his mind seep into the splintering wood and frayed cords, and flicked his wrist. The whole rack flew across the room and shattered against the far wall.

Callum cowered away from the noise, finally resembling the timid man Seth had always taken him for. Seth held up the crescent dagger, cocking his head with a smirk before retracting the blade.

Callum paused. He rose slowly, brushing himself off with a look of relief. He’d mistaken the disappearing blade for mercy. But Seth was here on a mission.

He flicked his wrist again, letting his korossa fill his hand as he pulled Callum off the ground with a sharp tug. Callum twitched, eyes wide with shock, as the blade pierced his heart.

Just then, wooden panels forming the wall to their right slid open.

Chapter 72
Feast of Sorrows

Elzar Kanaris struggled to make sense of their host’s strange welcome. Morraedd Deldraea, sworn rival to his family and usurper of the Selvan throne, made no effort at concealing his disdain for their motley group. Yet he showed Valdaris a sort of respect verging on envy and graciously offered him and his companions an entire wing of the palace to themselves.

Stranger still, he already knew the news they’d come to bring.

Zavos, of all people, had emerged from the palace hall as they entered behind Morraedd. Elzar was shocked to see him recovered, and even more alarmed to discover how he’d beaten them to Selvandrea. Though their passage by way of Rhyn’s vocalir had seemed a blink of an eye, in truth they’d wandered within the folds of space for more than a week. Zavos had made his way to Selvandrea in the interim, along with Elaryn’s ashes.

The commander filled Elzar in over a cup of mulled wine while the others settled in. Daezuyn’s remaining forces scattered from Gammeda within a day of their failed attack. Zavos woke in time to witness the aftermath, small skirmishes between forces loyal to Morraedd and the Daezuyn regiments. But the skelva had decimated Daezuyn’s army, along with rumors of a cloaked warrior slaying entire squadrons from the shadows. Some described a flaming sword and a navy cloak that hid from the eyes — others, an ominous figure in monk’s robes striking his enemies with tendrils of black mist.

Elzar recognized both Valdaris and the Daruman prince in the account, though he kept his growing concern about Podarrek’s return to himself. He’d sensed lingering evil in the Palladon pearl shop, and both Rhyn and Valdaris had identified the prince as the source. His intentions remained a mystery, but Elzar had no doubt he’d emerged from the depths of Pallados changed for the worse by his encounter with the dark. Only a fool tried to face such darkness alone.

According to Zavos, when he and his men were preparing to leave Gammeda, Elaryn’s body had flashed gold before their eyes, sparkling dust floating through the air before her body crumbled into ash. They’d recovered what they could in an urn and set out for the capital with all haste, even risking a direct route and potential ambushes from Daezuyn remnants. None came, and they’d arrived two days before Elzar and the rest fell into the palatial parks.

A knock at his door pulled him from his stray thoughts.

“Are you ready?” asked Mella from the hall.

He’d been fumbling with gold buttons on a lavish green and brown dress shirt for what felt like hours. Zavos had shown him to their rooms after their drinks, and Elzar had to blink more than once as he entered. His room was larger than any he’d ever stayed in. The bed alone was fit for a king, and beside it were three closets full of tailored clothes most nobles would kill for. It didn’t escape his notice that almost all were stitched in patterns and colors representing their Siivalan serfs, an attempted slight, he was sure. But he’d wear the colors with pride.

“Come in,” said Elzar. “I’m almost ready.”

Mella slipped through the door and closed it behind her.

“I don’t like this,” said Mella. “After everything that’s happened, the last place I want to be is sitting at the banquet table of Morraedd Deldraea.”

“I know. If it weren’t for Valdaris, I’d be taking Rhyn as far from here as possible. Where is she, by the way?”

“With the Ambrovian, and the girl.”

“A mystery, that one,” said Elzar. “I’ve heard of her kind but never met a skelva child before. She could be ancient, for all we know. They stop aging after exposure to the monsters’ spawning pools.”

“Vald seems to trust her. But I’m not sure he knows what he’s doing anymore.”

“This may all be for the best,” said Elzar. “Morraedd has been pulling the strings since this wild adventure of ours began. I want to know what it’s all been for. And between us two and Valdaris, he’d be a fool to try anything.”

Mella nodded.

“Here, let me,” she said. She stepped closer, gently pushing his fingers aside and fastening the last few buttons on his shirt. He looked into her hazel eyes, smiling, but his nerves were on edge. A growing pressure was building in his head and bones, like the air growing thick and dark as a thundercloud approaches.

“Shall we?” she said, offering her arm. Elzar slid his arm through and took her hand, and the pair made off for the banquet hall. Only now did he notice how beautiful she looked, adorned in a simple but elegant green dress with cream gloves and a pearl necklace. Morraedd had spared no expense.

“I guess we found you your pearls after all,” said Elzar.

Mella blushed, then shrugged.

“They’re fake,” she said, sliding her fingers under and raising them from her neckline. “No magic. You’ll have your chance yet.”

“You been needin’ them sea pearls?”

The pair turned, shocked to find the skelva girl standing a foot behind them. She was still wearing ragged clothes stained with ink and oil, and she reached into a pocket before pulling out a fine gold chain. She tugged at the chain and a golden flower ripped free from her torn pants, exquisite craftsmanship with a Palladon pearl set in each of its sapphire petals.

“Thought it were dandy,” she said. “But I been havin’ them pearls all day, every day, f’rever. You been needin’ them more, yeah?”

Mella and Elzar looked between each other and the girl, mouths open in confused smiles, and the girl held out her hand as though it were a matter of urgency. Mella grinned, unfastening her pearl necklace and exchanging it for the flower. The Palladon pearls glowed with golden light at her touch.

“Thank you,” said Mella.

“Yemalla, buster,” she answered. She pulled a jagged black dagger from her belt. “Y’re not bringin’ them fancy weapons of y’rs?”

Mella exchanged looks with Elzar, both reluctant to abandon their prized weapons where Morraedd’s minions could easily retrieve them.

“It wouldn’t be proper,” said Elzar, but the answer felt weak in his mouth. All the same, they’d have to take their chances.

Rhyn came running up behind them as they rounded the next corner, with Alessa close behind.

“Ooohh, so pretty!” said Rhyn. “Why don’t I get a nice dress?”

“Someday, Rhyn,” laughed Mella. “But you look absolutely lovely.”

Rhyn grinned, turning on her heels with her hands clasped behind her back. She’d picked another white shirt adorned with blue and silver flowers, relinquishing her new leather jacket but dark navy pants and leather boots still giving her the look of a child adventurer. Her golden hair was tied back in a short braid.

Alessa smiled at them from behind Rhyn, but she looked self-conscious. Elzar couldn’t blame her — by now she’d surely discovered that stains from untreated skelva ink were permanent. The purple streaks running down her face and neck would last a lifetime. She still wore her mesh suit as far up her neck as it would go, with sailors’ pants and a used military jacket overtop.

“Well then,” said Elzar, “let’s go see what our host has planned for us.”

The group continued through the hall, exiting their palace wing into a wider chamber lined with similar corridors. Two guards stood at attention by a large wooden doorway, and once the group came closer they turned and pulled the doors open.

The banquet hall was all but empty. Hints of a pink-orange sunset trickled in from stained windows high above, three long, wooden tables and their benches cast in shadow except for a few silver candles lit near the far end of the rightmost table. Morraedd sat at the table’s head with Valdaris to his left. On his right, a woman in a navy and silver dress sipped wine from a crystal chalice while Commander Zavos licked his fingers, a plate of what must have been appetizers already wiped clean. Elzar’s friend had never been one for propriety, and he was almost amused to see the man floundering in high company.

They made their way through the empty hall, once host to opulent banquets legendary across the continent. Elzar supposed Morraedd wanted to keep his interactions with a rival family secret from his supporters in the Malda, lest he risk improving the Kanarians’ status, but it saddened Elzar to see the hall so diminished.

“Welcome,” said Morraedd. “Please, join us.”

Alessa was first to move, taking the place next to Valdaris, and Elzar took the spot beside her so he could keep Mella and Rhyn on the end. Wind brushed through his hair and Zavos leapt with a start, his knees knocking the table and shaking the silverware and plates set before them. He looked to his left, where the girl Yemalla was settling into her spot without a care. Elzar couldn’t tell whether she’d sped around the table’s end or simply leapt over it, but he hadn’t caught so much as a blur of motion.

Morraedd chuckled.

“I do not think this table has ever entertained such... varied company. I am pleased you could all come.”

He clapped his hands, and a series of servants entered from a hall near the back with platters and pitchers in hand. They poured a chalice of mulled wine for each guest, even Rhyn, though Selvan wines were more sweet than strong. Their nobles tended to prefer wines for their tastes of berries and spices and left drunken brawling and disorder to their inferiors. Elzar was more worried about the possibility of poison, but he saw Valdaris taking measured sips and assumed they were safe to follow his lead.

The food came out in an endless exchange of courses, one plate or bowl replacing the next, often before the first was empty. Colorful salads drizzled in oil, spiced soups, thinly sliced meats with toasted chips and dips, an assortment of sizzling meat and vegetable platters in all manner of sauces — Elzar felt sure he’d explode by the end. Despite the setting, he could hardly remember such mouth-watering tastes and found himself almost as abandoned in the act of feasting as his uncouth friend opposite.

Only Rhyn and Yemalla seemed interested in talking. They chattered away while the rest wolfed down their food in silence. The clatter of dishes as the servants came and went, along with the girls’ chatter, prevented any pause from breaking the feast’s hungry trance, but Elzar had never endured so tense and awkward a dinner. Valdaris, Morraedd, and the woman beside him took small, careful bites, the Cereman looking deep in thought while the Selvan lord and his escort studied their guests with sinister smiles breaking through as they ate.

The meal finally came to a close. The servants returned with small, flakey pastries stuffed with nuts and dripping maple, paired with small cups of dense coffee that went down like a sweet sludge. They refilled each chalice with wine, then left for good through the back hall. Those at the table slowly looked up from their plates.

“So, Kanaris,” said Morraedd, clearing his throat for emphasis. “I understand you’ve already met my other guest.”

The woman raised her chalice toward Elzar, and now he remembered. The insincerity in her smile brought his mind back to Mindan, to the sniveling Colonel Maduka and the strange woman who’d conspired at his side. She’d thought to use Elzar’s budding affections for Melladar against him in a coverup, and now he caught her childish smirk as her eyes passed between the pair, priding herself on having been right.

“Vorgose Mezova has been indispensable to my affairs outside the realm,” said Morraedd. “Her sister, Vorsha, as well, though sadly she passed away in a raptor attack outside Darumae. My daughter, Elaryn, was the sole survivor, though I doubt she spoke of it.”

“I think we both know—” began the woman, but Morraedd cut her off with a glare.

Vorgose bowed and looked across the table. As her eyes fell on Alessa, a shimmering red mist appeared around her body and vibrated like an angry swarm of bees. Deepest hatred filled the air like a noxious gas before the mirage just as quickly disappeared. Elzar would have doubted his eyes if not for Mella’s hand clutching his under the table.

“If you’ll excuse me,” said Alessa. She rose from the bench with a hand to her stomach. “I don’t think I’m quite accustomed to the food here just yet.”

“Of course,” said Morraedd. “I do hope we’ll find time to talk once more during your stay. There is much about your arrival to our world that intrigues me.”

Alessa looked from Morraedd to Valdaris, then nodded and turned away. As she passed behind him, Elzar thought she seemed more flustered, even scared, than ill.

“Many a celebration feast has leveled even the heartiest guest,” said Morraedd, chuckling.

“What exactly are we celebrating?” asked Valdaris. It was the first Elzar had heard from him all day. “Your daughter is dead. Your enemies are closing in. And we may have unleashed an evil on this world neither of us has the power to contain.”

“Have faith, my friend,” said Morraedd. “My enemies are exactly where I want them. And my daughter’s fate is unfortunate, but not as final as you imply. I am grateful her wavering allegiance led her to you, Cereman.”

He paused, taking a long sip from his chalice.

“Besides, the darkness we face is not as pervasive as you seem to fear. The world changes faster than our enemy’s schemes can adapt. Just look at our new ‘Ambrovian’ friends, or our remarkable Kanarian heiress recovered against all hope. Or you, for that matter.”

Before Valdaris could respond, a crashing sound echoed from the back of the hall.

“Ah, it seems our final guest has awakened,” said Morraedd. He set down his chalice, then raised his hand beside his ear and snapped. A filmy orb of silver and white energy appeared between his thumb and finger, then flickered out.

Two wooden panels slid open from behind a dais at the hall’s rear. There, standing shirtless with blood trickling down his chest, stood Seddram Peltan, his korossa plunged through the chest of a stunned Siivalan. It took Elzar a moment to take in the scene. Seddram turned in shock, then pulled his blade free as the Siivalan man toppled to the floor.

“Father!” yelled Melladar. She bolted from her spot, charging forward, but Valdaris caught her arm. She stood beside him, rocking on her feet as though falling asleep.

“No,” she said. “He wouldn’t...”

Elzar didn’t know what to do. Rhyn tried to get up and see what was happening, but he rested a hand on her shoulder and shook his head. He turned back in time to see Seth run out through a corridor opposite where the servants had come and gone.

“You’re a cruel man,” said Valdaris. “You’re lucky we share the same enemies.”

“I’m practical,” said Morraedd. “I make necessary sacrifices to keep the draemeir in check. And now I know something of your limitations. One of your own in the very next room, and you couldn’t see.”

Red flashed out from Valdaris’s wrist. The crystal edge of his longsword scraped at Morraedd’s neck, a single drop of blood dripping from the cut before sinking into the lord’s scarlet robes. A few silver hairs fell away where the blade cut through.

“Do not test me, Deldraea.”

Morraedd smirked in response, his eyes calm and defiant. Tension turned the air thick and made night’s first shadows heavy with coiled fury.

Elzar worried Valdaris would follow through on his threat, and he wondered if it would have been for the best. But before either man could say more, a horn called out in the night. A series of bells followed.

“Oohh, what’s that?” asked Rhyn, totally oblivious to the moment’s strain.

Zavos rose from his seat, looking expectantly at Elzar.

“Warning bells, I should think,” said Morraedd. He sounded almost giddy. “It seems our enemy has arrived. Commander—”

Elzar assumed he was speaking to Zavos, but the lord’s eyes were fixed on his.

“I should hope you would lead a company in the battle ahead. Your record on the field is without blemish, and this is your home to defend as much as mine.”

Every fiber of Elzar’s being wanted to answer the call, but he hesitated, looking to Valdaris for guidance.

“Go,” said Valdaris, retracting his sword. “I’ll be there shortly.”

Still, Elzar hesitated, more for Mella’s sake than his own. Valdaris turned to her, still standing by his side in shock.

“I’ll attend to his body,” said Valdaris, his hands on her shoulders. “But please, get yourself and Rhyn to safety. There isn’t time.”

Morraedd rose from his gilded chair, dabbing his neck with a fine cloth as he turned to the woman.

“Vorgose, show them to the forge. You’ll be safe there.”

“Yes, my lord,” she answered, rising and making her way down the banquet hall without glancing at the others.

Mella turned, eyes glazed with grief and confusion, before beginning a slow shuffle away from the table. Elzar caught her hand as she passed, but she hardly noticed, turning long enough for their eyes to meet and giving his fingers the faintest squeeze before moving on.

“Come, Rhyn,” she said, and Rhyn took her hand without a word.

As Elzar watched them leave, the dread of war overtook him. His mind was already playing the scene out like a fading memory, capturing and latching onto the moment with the distressing intuition that it would be their last time together.

“Where do ye be needin’ me?” asked Yemalla. “I’m in no shape for a buster, yeah?”

“Find the marked one,” said Valdaris. “She’ll know what to do.”

“Yessir, buster,” she answered, vanishing before their eyes in a rush of wind.

Valdaris turned back to Morraedd.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Chapter 73
Barred by Light

Sevora pressed on, ignoring the burn in her thighs. The company hiked up a steep incline along the ravine’s edge, eyes alert and motions quick but cautious. She wiped sleep from her eyes with a sigh, longing for rest but knowing she had to set the pace. The danger they’d face if they stopped was beyond what they could handle, even with the knights.

Two days into their pursuit of the zovakem, she realized her mistake. They hadn’t seen the monsters since that first encounter outside Rovellan’s ruins. But on the second night, a sound like cicadas echoed through the shadows — the Siivalans thought nothing of it, but as the sound grew closer, she knew. She remembered the hive of monsters emerging from the island depths and their menacing, insect-like calls.

She’d led her company into a trap. Again.

They lost two that first night. A kossa master vanished the next day, even in broad daylight without a monster in sight. The whole company was on edge, and the basilicas hid within their armor. On the third day, thin tendrils of dark mist appeared along the ravine floor, forcing them to higher ground.

Now, the sickening din of a thousand cicadas vibrated through the air even during the day. It was only a matter of time until the monsters attacked.

“Caves ahead,” said Falcen, retracting his helmet. “Clear, as far as I can tell.”

“Can you tell where the hive is?” asked Sevora.

“Up the slopes on our right,” he replied. “I’m not picking up nearly as many as you’d expect from the noise.”

“They’re between us and the city,” said Sevora. “We may not be worth the trouble if Selvandrea’s their goal.”

Noillin approached from behind. The rest of the Siivalans still kept their distance — they seemed to have appointed the novice kossa as liaison between them and Sevora. Their continued distrust made her livid. Noillin, by contrast, practically fawned over her, the sort of awed adoration she’d have killed for in years past, though now it was a nuisance at best.

“We’ll shelter in the caves,” said Sevora. “If we’re forced to take a stand, that’s our best bet, or else we’ll wait them out and continue for the city when able. For now, stay alert.”

Noillin and the knights nodded before the kossa returned to the company.

“Falcen, are you catching this signal?” asked Daggen, tapping at his wrist.

“It’s Alessa, I think,” said Falcen. “I tried hailing her, but no response.”

“That’s good,” said Sevora. Both knights turned her way. “We’d been taken captive by monks and Selvans before that bastard Valdaris sent me back to Siivala. If your friend is nearby, that could mean she and the others were brought to Selvandrea. We’re close.”

She touched her hand to her hilt, ignoring the sinking feeling as energy passed through her into the blade. Her mind touched the dark presence lingering just beyond reach, somewhere out there in the shadows. Beneath the swarming malice, she sensed something like curiosity playing across the hive’s mind. She should have been troubled by her growing connection to the darkness, but beneath the fear she felt somehow reassured, welcome even. As much as she hated these monsters, the sense of power and control pressing into her from the sword felt like coming home.

The knights were waiting for her. Falcen offered his hand and she let him help her over a bulging root. Any other time she’d have batted his hand away, but she enjoyed the attention. She’d noticed strange looks from Daggen, too, as though her feigned interest in his fellow knight had ignited a spark of jealousy. Despite the dark threat hanging over them, she smiled, a smile Falcen mistook for gratitude as he grinned back.

The sun was setting by the time they reached the caves, narrow but tall gaps in rock walls cutting through the forest. She’d hoped for a wider passage rather than being forced to continue single file, but if they were lucky the caves would open farther in.

Darkness closed in around them. They felt their way forward, shuffling through the narrow pass until the cave turned. The passage opened abruptly into a domed cavern cut down the middle by a wall of shimmering blue light. Eerie waves of energy rippled off the walls and reflected off the knights’ armor. The rest of the company shuffled into the cavern, edging closer to the wall of light but none daring to step through.

Noillin was the first to try. She passed her hand through with a quick burst, shivering as she pulled back.

“It’s cold,” she said. “Like a korossa, almost.”

She tried again, this time letting her hand rest under the waves of light blue energy as they danced over her skin. She took a careful step forward, then another, and drew a long breath as the light passed over her head.

“Amazing.”

She beckoned to the others, and a few kossans joined her under the light. Their gesh robes and armor reflected the energy in even brighter rays where it touched. Their skin turned from light browns to blues and greens the longer they stood under the rippling waves, as though absorbing the energy.

Curious and eager to move on, Sevora stepped forward.

Even before she reached out with her hand, the wall of light withdrew and parted as she approached. Her hand skimmed over the energy before breaking through, a strange pressure pushing back her skin as tremors vibrated through the light. As she advanced, a sphere of empty space formed around her, barring the light, shaking violently, and blurring her view of those beyond.

There was darkness, a sick and twisted will, hidden in the light. She felt it scratching at her mind and wondered how the others could bear it. The rippling waves shook with a greed and insatiable hunger, some dark desire for control that raged against her.

At her hip, the azurial veins and fanged pommel of her korossa glowed an eerie turquoise. The cave’s energy drew back even farther, as though fleeing from her sword, and the kossans stepped back, as though reluctant to leave the light.

“How are you doing that?” asked Noillin.

She looked curious, eager even, and stepped closer, but the other kossans squinted and grabbed their korossas. They looked crazed, eyes fixed on her and glowing with the cave’s malevolent light. Sevora stumbled, her heart racing and vision blurred — the threat, perceived or real, shook her resolve. She clenched her fists and sweat trickled between her fingers.

“Are you alright?” asked Falcen.

She looked at the knight as he approached, then turned back to the kossans. None had hands on their korossas, and their eyes glimmered under the light but without the malevolent glow of a second before. She shook her head.

“I’m fine, Fal—”

Falcen came closer, but blue and green sparks skipped off his armor where it touched the light and forced him back.

He shared a quizzical look with Sevora across the gap before she caught the sound of cicadas and a flash of purple. Daggen stood stiff, then screamed in panic as something dragged him back into the passage. Four zovakem dropped from the cavern ceiling, one pouncing on Falcen so his head fell through the wall of light — he thrashed and yelled as sparks skipped over his face where the light touched.

How did they...

Conscious thought slipped away. Sevora drew her korossa before the intention to fight even touched her mind. Instinct and hunger, a craving she couldn’t explain, took over her body. The craving drove her forward, and she plunged her sword through the closest monster as it rose off Falcen’s back. Her empty sphere pulsed out, pushing back the light and saving Falcen from the sparks, but the side of his face was charred black. She hardly noticed, consumed by a rush of malice flowing up her veins, her very soul pulled through her blade and welcomed into the hive.

She drank in the euphoria, her mind cast on an ocean of tangled thought. Each new creature her awareness touched brought a rush of vertigo. The confusion and betrayal and despair of the weeks past vanished within the void, replaced by immeasurable power and an insatiable hunger for more.

Her vision sped over the zovakem horde, through the cave and up the ravine beyond. The zovakem prime stood on a rock shelf overlooking the cave entrance. It watched her projection approach while shadowy mist danced over its body. The creature snarled in a frenzied rage, desperate to cast her away but helpless against her assumed control of its minions. She held up her hand, pulling more power into her arm, and clenched her fist.

The vision collapsed. Every zovakem in the cave dropped dead. The creature over Falcen fell away from her blade, flickering black fire searing a hole in its chest and filling the cave with the sick smell of burnt, rancid flesh.

She basked in the pure ecstasy of the moment. A wave of heat washed over her bones and muscles, relieving every trace of tension and sinking into her core as calm focus steadied her mind.

The feeling lingered, but she had half a mind to go hunting for more. The prime was still out there.

Falcen moaned and pushed himself up, looking around and taking in the sight of dead monsters. He winced as his mouth opened, then joined Sevora in the empty sphere where the light still failed to break through.

“Where... is Daggen?” he asked.

Their answer came in a bright yellow flash from the cave entrance. A shockwave threw the company on their backs. Sevora felt the blast coming, bracing with a wall of power, but Falcen slammed into her and both fell to the floor. The cavern ceiling cracked and the entrance collapsed in a cascade of rocks and dust.

“No!” yelled Falcen, wincing as he roared into the falling dust.

“Was that...” started Sevora. She pushed herself up beside him.

“His armor... His shields were gone after fighting Maldeem, but... I’ve never seen...”

He trailed off.

“I thought I stopped them,” said Sevora.

She could still feel their power inside her. She caught fragments of memory slipping over her awareness — the monsters clawed desperately at Daggen’s armor, ripping through the plates before she severed the connection. There’d been so much blood... not enough... more... She felt the hunger returning as quickly as it faded.

“Are we trapped?” asked Noillin, brushing herself off as she approached. “The cave continues ahead, but we can’t tell how far.”

“The last... he could have...” Falcen looked ahead, delirious and swaying where he stood.

“Come on,” said Sevora, sliding her arm under his. “We need to keep going.”

He didn’t answer.

“Where’s the other—”

Sevora cut off Noillin’s question with the fiercest glare she could muster and motioned ahead, deeper into the cave. At least the girl was smart enough to take the hint. She led the kossans forward with Sevora and Falcen trailing behind.

Falcen’s steps faltered and he coughed, heaving rasps that pulled him to his knees. Sevora watched, annoyed and unsure how to help. His armor flashed red and retracted into his belt.

“I can’t...” He broke into another fit of coughing. “Something’s... wrong.”

He looked up, and the clear side of his face was bright red, the burnt eye swollen shut and the other pink and watering. The kossans gathered around and she almost yelled for them to leave. She hated being seen fawning over a fallen soldier like some common heartlander, but she owed him.

She put a hand to the clear half of his forehead, expecting the heat of fever. Instead, heat rushed through her arm and into his skin. He stiffened and she pulled away, unsure what she’d done, but as they all watched his skin began to clear. Flecks of black fell away from the charred side of his face, his eyes opened, pale blue and wide with shock, and his original pasty complexion returned with such speed he looked almost dead. He took a deep breath, then another.

“That was... unexpected.” He tapped at his wrist. “No draemeir... how is this possible?”

“I don’t know,” said Sevora.

He studied her with eager eyes, his gaze made all the more uncomfortable by the crowding kossans.

“Come on,” she said, offering her hand. “Unless you think you can blast through this rubble, we’d better continue.”

He smiled, taking her hand and rising slowly with a stretch.

His other hand skimmed the edge of the empty sphere and he pulled back with a yelp. Smoke rose from his fingers where the light had touched, nails cracked and drops of blood falling from his fingertips between more flecks of black. Sevora cringed, feeling the burning pain rush up her nerves from his hand, but in a heartbeat more heat rushed between them. His fingers healed before their eyes.

Noillin stepped closer, studying her own hand under the light and passing it quickly in and out of Sevora’s sphere.

“Are we safe? Why doesn’t it affect the rest of us?”

“How the scheth should I know,” answered Sevora. “Whatever it is, it isn’t good. We need to find a way out of here, fast.”

Falcen’s hand slipped from hers — she hadn’t realized it was still there until he let go. She cursed under her breath, but luckily Falcen and the kossans were looking ahead. Falcen’s armor reappeared around him in a flash of red, and he stepped to the light’s edge.

“I may be able to map out some of the way ahead,” he said, voice muffled behind his helmet. He tapped at his wrist, looking from left to right. His armor buzzed and thin lines of red traced their way up to his head. “We’re... not alone. I’m picking up others... people. Hundreds... maybe thousands.”

Sevora was about to step deeper into the cave when Noillin caught her eye. She turned around and motioned discreetly to the floor.

Sevora’s heart caught in her chest. Her face turned crimson. The blood rushing to her cheeks blurred her vision and panic slammed down on her chest.

She’d left her korossa on the cavern floor. She couldn’t believe it.

Noillin smiled, still discrete, but any gratitude Sevora felt was drowned out by embarrassment and rage. She scooped up her weapon before anyone else could notice and felt the heat and shame drain from her body into the sword. She gagged from a fresh wave of nausea and almost lurched forward, steadying herself with a hand on Falcen’s back. Cool energy from his armor passed up her arm and she looked straight ahead when he turned, her hand already back by her side. She had no interest in explaining herself.

She sheathed her sword, then followed behind the kossans as they exited the cavern through a downward passage. Thin plates of rock formed what felt like stairs. As they continued, the passage walls turned from jagged to finely carved, the stairs becoming narrow and precise until they leveled out onto a wide shelf overlooking the largest cave Sevora had ever seen.

Sevora had to push past Falcen and a few kossans to get a better view. Her jaw fell open.

The expanse ahead looked as though an entire mountain had been hollowed. The jutting rock ceiling stretched beyond their view, interrupted by three enormous holes through which vast streams of water rushed out like suspended waterfalls.

But nothing had prepared her for what truly had them staring — an entire city built into the cavern floor and walls, with thousands of men, women, and children rushing in from arched tunnels to the right. And now they all saw the source of the mysterious light. Four Selvan obelisks, giant stone spires glowing bright blue, rose as terrifying monoliths from different levels of the cavern floor.

The Selvans ran from the tunnels, seeking shelter in the hidden city, but lines of musketeers ushered them through the space between the two lower obelisks. The light between the obelisks formed a wall of rippling power, and the soldiers were unceremoniously pushing through any who hesitated.

Nearing the obelisks, a girl with golden hair struggled against two soldiers. A young woman with dark hair drew what looked like a korossa, even as another soldier aimed a musket at her chest.

“Is that—” began Noillin.

Melladar. Sevora’s sword was out in a heartbeat, her hands tight around the hilt as a wall of her newfound power pushed back the light.

Chapter 74
Into the Forge

Melladar tried to push past the shock, to no avail. The sounds of bells ringing from the city did nothing — she’d have welcomed the dragons or monsters or war they beckoned, anything to escape her loss.

The sinister woman slithered forward and Mella followed without thought. Soon Rhynwhen was leading her by the hand as Vorgose sped down a corridor opposite the wing with their rooms. Darkness and red mist twisted around the woman as she passed a torch. The terrible sight slipped through Mella’s awareness, almost going unnoticed until Rhyn pulled on her arm. She’d stopped, shivering, and Mella braced. Rhyn’s fear brought her back to the moment.

“I need my sword,” said Mella, loud enough for Vorgose to hear.

“Fine. Make it quick.”

Mella led Rhyn back the way they came, and as they reached the chamber outside the dining hall, Elzar and Zavos came running in from the opposite corridor. Zavos wore full Selvan armor, and Elzar had retrieved his crystal sword and shield. They stopped at the sight of Mella and Rhyn. Elzar stared into her eyes with longing and regret and every feeling in between, then nodded and ran after Zavos. The depth of the moment crushed Mella to the core.

“Where are they going?” asked Rhyn. Mella didn’t have the heart to answer.

“Come, Rhyn,” she said. “Let’s grab our things.”

Rhyn watched the men leave but followed after a pause, head down and mumbling to herself. Mella wished she could comfort the girl, and she’d do whatever it took to keep her safe, but her father was dead. It was taking all her strength to put one foot in front of the other.

Callum had always been a reserved man, more so than her even, though he shared her mother’s ambition. He’d spent much of her life away, representing their people in the Siivorium or researching the minutiae of trade negotiations with the Selvar and Naemreddans. He’d lacked Mella’s gentle spirit and Sevora’s resolve, more distant than cold and always lost in the pages of his books.

His loss still hurt. And visions from Valdaris robbed her of the rage that might have spurred her to action, instead of this empty void she felt sapping her strength. The Cereman’s touch on her arm had filled her mind with Seth’s most recent memories, following her father away from a tavern and ending strung up for Morraedd’s twisted pleasure. She had no doubt Seth was the last of many Zirravah her father had handed over to their oppressor, and the betrayal left her hollow.

Callum felt like the last connection to her family she had. She’d been drifting away from her mother and sister ever since they tried to murder Seth and their schemes that followed. Now, the last vestige of her family was gone. Valdaris and his followers were more her kin than the hardened women who’d left her in reckless quests for power and status.

“What now?” asked Rhyn. They’d reached their room, and she shook her head to clear her thoughts. The warning bells still echoed in the distance.

“Why don’t you grab your jacket? I need to change out of this ridiculous dress.”

Rhyn nodded and skipped to the chair where she’d left her jacket in a bundle. Mella turned to the enormous wardrobe gracing the wall right of the door, pulling open a finely engraved wooden panel and scooping up her korossa. The rush of cool energy through her arm made her gasp, and she wept into the wardrobe between suspended dresses and gowns, hoping they’d muffle her despair. The sorrow slipped free like an opened dam, release as much as sadness mingling in her tears.

“Miss Mella?”

“I’ll be but a moment,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Why don’t you wait in the hall and let me know if anyone’s coming.”

She didn’t look, hiding behind the wardrobe door, but Rhyn stepped away and shuffled through the doorway.

Mella settled her korossa on the bed and set about changing back into her usual garb. She’d relished the chance to wear such a resplendent dress, eager and nervous to see Elzar’s reaction, but now she wanted to tear the smooth silk down the middle for the reminder of death and sorrow it served.

She removed the dress and gloves, trading them for her dark travel pants and light green shirt under a sturdy gesh leather vest. The pearl flower, however, she left around her neck.

A shiver passed through her arms. It was strange — she couldn’t recall feeling so cold since being trapped over Kartumol, not even while stranded in the stormy waves of the Palladon Sea. The cold felt ethereal, like she was being watched by some dark presence devoid of joy and warmth.

“Do you feel that, Rhyn?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“Never mind. I’ll be there in a second.”

She moved along the wardrobe, opening the second door and passing her hand along the lush fabrics until she reached coats, cloaks, and jackets set against the far wall. Her eyes settled on a sturdier leather jacket, darker than Rhyn’s but close enough that she thought her new ward would approve. The lining was smooth and soft against her skin as she put it on, without being too warm. It did little for the malevolent cold still hanging over the room. Either way, she had a feeling the battles ahead might force them to endure new environments, and she wanted to be prepared.

She turned and screamed.

Rhyn came running in, but the vision was already gone. A woman in a scarlet dress stood inches from Mella’s face, with fire for eyes and blood pouring from a broken nose. Fierce wounds across her body stained the scarlet dress deep reds and purple, and the woman laughed with a malicious cackle that made Mella shudder with dread. The vision rippled, scattering in a burst of red mist before Rhyn stepped past the wardrobe door.

“Careful,” said Mella. “She’s watching us.”

“Who?” asked Rhyn.

“The woman... I think she has a specter, like what Vald told us... I saw something just like when we saw Elaryn on the ship, but so much worse. Stay close, and be careful.”

Rhyn looked around and shrugged, but she seemed to take the warning to heart. Mella fastened her korossa to her belt and led them out, but both stopped in the doorway. Vorgose leaned against the opposite wall, studying her nails.

“At this rate, the battle will be won and over by the time we’ve even left the palace,” she said, her voice lilting and her tone utterly aloof. “Shall we?”

Mella nodded, though Vorgose had already turned away. She rested her hand on her korossa and a rush of cool energy renewed her focus. Some nagging impression in the back of her mind told her to run, but Valdaris had been clear they needed to play Morraedd’s game until they knew what they were up against. Some dark plan had brought them to this moment, and they’d never be free until the trap was sprung.

Vorgose led them through a maze of corridors until they reached the Great Hall. The throne room was empty. Flames from torches set against the pillars on either side reflected off chandeliers above to give an illusion of fireflies over a flat meadow. But darkness lingered over the throne and tables and empty space as surely as it followed the woman before them.

Rhyn stopped, eyes locked on the throne and mumbling. She was louder now, but Mella still couldn’t make out the words, and after a pause she gave her a gentle tug and the heiress relinquished her gaze from the throne that might have someday been hers.

Four guards still on duty, the first they’d seen since those outside the dining hall, pushed open the grand ebony doors to the palatial parks. As they parted, the sound of bells grew tenfold, now punctuated by the echoes of cannons and gunfire in the distance. The battle had begun.

“We must hurry,” said Vorgose.

To her credit, she sounded frightened, the most human impression she’d given in their short but eerie time together. Still, she walked with the poised grace of an indifferent noble, the navy and silver of her dress sliding over the marble walkway like trailing serpents. The sight reminded Mella of someone — her mother. She shook the thought away, but the similarity was striking. And she now knew both women served the Selvan high lord. As did Callum, a reminder that brought fresh tears to her eyes.

“Don’t worry,” said Rhyn beside her. “He’ll be alright. Mister Elzar can handle anything, and he has that shiny sword from Mister Vald now. No one can beat them. I wish I could watch!”

Mella smiled but kept her thoughts to herself. Worry about Elzar was a welcome distraction from thoughts of her family.

At the edge of the park, past the final fountain and a line of tall maples, Vorgose disappeared through what looked like a wall of rock. In truth, the mountainside before them opened with a thin, jagged crevice of dark rock, imperceptible from outside until standing within inches of the entrance. Once inside, the crevice opened into a narrow stairway carved downward, winding this way and that with torches in silver sconces at even intervals, just enough to interrupt the closing darkness.

They journeyed down into the mountain for what felt like hours. Eventually, a din of voices and rushing water rose to meet them, and the stairway ended at a small gate of iron bars. Vorgose pulled a silver key from her belt and unlocked the gate, closing it behind them with cautious looks to either side.

What met them beyond the gate left Mella and Rhyn in awe. The heart of the mountain opened into an enormous cave beyond Mella’s wildest dreams, a city almost as grand as Selvandrea itself carved into the floor and walls farther than she could see. Rippling blue light from giant Selvan obelisks filled the cave, chilling Mella to the core. Above, three pristine waterfalls fell from holes in the mountain ceiling, crashing down into a long and narrow lake that split the hidden city in two. To Mella’s eyes, the water sparkled with shimmers of purest white light, its magic soothing her bones from afar.

“Welcome to the forge,” said Vorgose.

She continued down an open stairway before Mella could ask the hundred questions rushing through her head. The din of voices grew louder, panicked and confused, and soon the stairway joined with a wide lane carved between stone turrets, hundreds of Selvans rushing past deeper into the cave.

“Wait!”

Vorgose slipped into the crowd without a word. Mella could barely keep her in sight as she struggled to keep hold of Rhyn’s hand — the fleeing Selvans pushed and scrambled forward, and she was sure they’d be trampled if she couldn’t find a way back to higher ground.

Soon, however, it became clear they were trapped.

Selvan soldiers formed long lines on either side, ushering the crowd forward, and as they approached the base of two giant obelisks, the crowd slowed and some even turned to run back the way they came.

A wall of light shimmered between the obelisks, the magic concentrated and far stronger than what Mella felt around them. Soldiers were ushering the crowd through the light, most staggering on the other side before carrying on into the hidden city. Those resisting or attempting to flee were tossed through without ceremony, the dense crowd behind preventing anyone from turning back.

Mella sensed a dark hunger in the magic, though the cool energy reminded her of how she felt wielding her korossa. There’d never been malice in the blade’s power, but cruel intention filled the air and vibrated between the obelisks like the rattling of a snake’s tail.

“Now just you listen here, sonny,” said an old man to their left. He was prodding a soldier in the chest with his boney fingers. “I didn’t travel all the way here just to get shoved into some lousy caves.”

“Oh come now, Jedda,” said another old man beside him. “There are far worse places to wait out—"

Mella missed the rest, pushed closer to the obelisks by a man and woman with heavy bags heaped over their shoulders. As they approached the wall of light, Mella spotted Vorgose. She stood between two men in black and silver uniforms, pointing to her and Rhyn. The men shouted and three soldiers closed in, one leveling a musket at Mella while the other two ripped Rhyn from her hand before she knew what had happened.

Mella drew her korossa with the grace and speed of a master before the soldier could fire. She ducked as he did, the ball slowing as it passed and her awareness drinking in the thrill and motions of battle. She slashed through the man’s musket as he tried to catch her on its bayonet, then ran him through and watched the shock flash through his eyes. Her blade flashed with blue fire and he was dead before hitting the ground, but her focus was already turned to the bastard soldiers trying to take her ward.

All sound stopped. Mella could see Rhyn screaming as she resisted, could feel the glimmering water cascading down, could sense the clamor of the crowd parting. A woman lay dead beside her, caught by the soldier’s stray bullet. All was quiet, even as the earth shook under her feet and a thousand voices vibrated through the air.

Instinct took over. Mella’s awareness drifted up and out, flowing through the cave and reaching into the majestic streams of water above. The white light inside pushed back the malevolence flashing out from the obelisks, replacing the unseen darkness with flowing peace and clearest focus. Mella drew the power deep into herself, and the water began to move.

All three waterfalls lurched, then shot out and crashed down to the stone pathway. Water swirled around Mella in a churning circle that threw soldiers and citizens back against the turrets to either side. Vorgose watched from within the walls of racing water and flashed crimson, the two soldiers releasing Rhyn and fumbling for their weapons.

Mella smiled, focus and clarity washing away all grief and confusion with the fierce resolve of purpose. She held her sword between her and the soldiers. Their next move for the girl would be their last.

Without warning, Mella’s awareness and power collapsed. A wall of clear power caught her from the side, releasing her hold on the water and throwing her into the crowd.

“Enough!”

Mella looked up in time to watch jets of red mist shoot from Vorgose’s palm, catching her from behind and throwing both her and Rhyn through the wall of light. She heard Rhyn scream as she passed through, then felt a flash of golden light and power blast out from her body before landing hard on the other side of the obelisks.

It took a moment to regain her senses. She sat up with a groan, stiff and sore but otherwise uninjured. Looking back, she saw dozens of dead soldiers and citizens scattered across the lane. Here, on the other side of the shimmering wall, a few Selvans thrown through before her and Rhyn were stumbling away, looking delirious and shaken.

Only after reaching for her sword beside her did she notice the girl. Rhyn lay still, facedown and her skin white as death.

“Rhyn! Rhyn!”

She shook her and called her name again and again, but Rhyn didn’t answer. Mella cradled her body and saw with a flash of relief that her chest was rising in short, stunted attempts to breathe, clinging to life by a thread.

Vorgose stepped around the nearest obelisk, notably avoiding the wall of light between them.

“What did you do?” asked Mella, her voice trembling and already hoarse from trying to revive the child in her arms.

“You should be grateful,” said Vorgose. “She’s been freed of the draemeir’s hold, as have you. Her power, and yours, belongs to us now. Your part in this conflict is over.”

Mella looked down at Rhyn and knew the woman spoke true. Beneath the shell of Rhyn’s limp flesh, Mella sensed a vast emptiness. Where once there’d been thousands of voices competing in an endless sea of noise, only silence and Rhyn’s rasping breath remained.

“Come. The waters ahead will make her well, and then I’ll explain everything.”

Chapter 75
Of Duty and Fire

Elzar Kanaris drank in the crisp night air and led the company forward. Merchants and nobles parted as he and Zavos ran toward the lifts, a mingled group of Zavos’s crew, armored soldiers, and sharpshooters granted by Morraedd following close behind. Elzar kept his features stern and focused on the impossible task ahead.

Despite the gravity of the battle to come, he was where he was meant to be. He knew nothing better. Hard experience had made him numb long ago to the terror and sorrows of war. In place of fear, he felt purpose, the cool resolve of training and the foolish hope he might still someday restore his family name.

Zavos beamed beside him with the determined glow he knew they both felt. Their matching armor shimmered under each lampstand as they passed, the familiar weight giving Elzar a renewed sense of security after weeks in civilian clothes. Though he’d miss his own, long lost in the depths of the Palladon, his new set from the palatial armory fit exceedingly well and put his worn family armor to shame.

Guards at the lifts opened the gates and the company joined another dozen soldiers on the clear resin platform. More than a few were trembling, and rightly so. Even with vocalir blessed weapons and armor, and even facing an enemy more akin to a wild mob than a trained army, there’d be many losses in the battle ahead. Any force large or powerful enough to fight its way to the Selvan capital was not to be trifled with.

But to Elzar, the impending war was a path to redemption. He relished the chance to fight in a war that finally had meaning, the defense of his people, instead of the mindless campaigns he’d endured in close to two decades of service. He’d lost himself, though never his honor or resolve, somewhere between his enlistment at sixteen and the fall of Ceremai fifteen years later. The Cereman’s gifts and the events of the last two years did nothing for the void that had plagued him since.

As though summoned by his thoughts, Valdaris appeared overhead. He stood on the rock shelf jutting out over the city, lamps from the palace shrouding the cloaked figure in orange light and swirling shadows. Just as the lift dropped under Elzar’s feet, the Cereman leapt forward.

The soldiers who’d caught sight of the looming figure gasped in unison. His cloak trailed behind him as he plummeted to the lower levels, racing past the falling lift and wind forcing Elzar to blink as he tried to watch.

What seemed like only a few feet from the buildings below, Valdaris reached up. A line of clear energy filled the space between his palm and one of Selvandrea’s golden towers ahead, the Cereman swinging from the rippling power like a vine before shooting forward. He glided through the air as though catching its flow under the folds of his navy cloak, then linked with a second tower and pulled himself higher. The soldiers hung over the lift’s rails for a better view before Valdaris dropped into the streets below.

“Was that...” began Zavos.

“The Cereman, yes.”

Zavos left it at that, already familiar with Valdaris’s power, but the soldiers murmured between themselves and looked to the commanders with eyes full of questions. Answers would have to wait, but Elzar was grateful for the Cereman’s display. These men needed to know they weren’t alone in the fight ahead.

The lift hit the street below with a dull thud. The soldiers distracted by the Cereman’s flight stumbled from the impact, most remaining composed but several grabbing in vain for the rails before falling. Zavos pushed through and opened the gate once the company recovered, and they set off together through the city core.

The emptiness was haunting. Soldiers lined the walls or prepared barricades and mortars, but there wasn’t a civilian in sight. For all the din of battle, the city felt already dead. They hadn’t passed nearly enough people on the upper levels to account for Selvandrea’s citizenry. Elzar’s confidence wavered — something was wrong. He looked at Zavos between breaths as they ran, but his friend shook his head in shared confusion. It was one thing to know and track where citizens were sheltered during a siege, but another altogether to defend an empty city.

Eventually, they reached the forward gate between the old and new city, and Elzar stopped to address the guards.

“Soldier, where is everyone?”

“In the forge, sir,” said the closest guard, his musket propped against his shoulder and eyes never leaving the space opposite where he stood. His decorum would serve little purpose once the enemy broke through, but Elzar would leave him to discover that for himself.

“They say there’s shelter,” said another guard, this one turning and lowering his weapon. “Columas and soldiers have been evacuating the city since midday.”

“Thank you, soldier,” said Elzar. He turned to Zavos. “What’s Morraedd planning?”

Zavos shook his head, but they had their answer. The city’s forges had long been restricted to the columas and their adepts, the mysteries within guarded closely by Morraedd and the other lords. For the Malda to relinquish those secrets to the common people didn’t bode well. Morraedd had seemed so assured beyond doubt of victory as they dined. Either his confidence had been a performance, or something else was afoot. With the columas involved, Elzar assumed the latter.

He motioned to the company and continued into New Selvandrea, the sounds of cannons and guns returning him to the task at hand and ridding his mind of the high lord’s schemes. He’d worry about Morraedd when this was over.

Unlike the old city, New Selvandrea’s streets crossed in perfect lines, rows of quickly built brick homes interrupted by the occasional stone building. The weaker structures lacked the grandeur of old Selvan masonry but would help slow the enemy’s advance with traps and ambushes. They could use the taller structures to position cannons and musketeers, added defense for the barricades below.

Scattered defenders and their early attempts at fortifying positions slowed the company to a quick march. Elzar studied the barricades as he stepped around, some built from iron and wooden staves and others scrambled together with furniture and debris collected from nearby homes. Most had cannons and lines of musketeers at the ready, while smaller pockets of armored soldiers stood off in reserve. The bulk of the army, however, lay ahead, stationed atop and beyond the New City’s meager walls.

“May I join you?”

Valdaris emerged from between two homes, hooded and only his glimmering sapphire eyes visible in the moonlight. Zavos’s crew and even some of the musketeers muttered between themselves, and Zavos took a step back.

“Peace,” he said, looking at Zavos. “You’re not my enemy.”

“You mean to fight with us?” asked Elzar.

“Yes, but I hoped we could speak first.” He motioned back between the brick homes beside them.

Elzar nodded to Zavos, who still looked on edge, then followed Valdaris into the alley.

“I can fight briefly, but this battle is yours,” said Valdaris. “I’d only draw unwanted attention on the field. I’ll help your initial push, then double back.”

“To what end?” asked Elzar.

“I can do more good from the shadows,” said Valdaris. “And Morraedd is planning something.”

“I thought for certain you’d kill him,” said Elzar. “After all he’s done... and what he did to the captain.”

“Seth will be fine,” said Valdaris. “And you’re right... but I cannot see a future beyond Morraedd’s death. For now, his life is tied to mine, it seems. I need to discover why, or we’ll never be free of his hold on our lives.”

Elzar nodded with a flicker of envy. He’d spent his whole life maintaining resolve in the face of uncertainty, his future always in question. Like his lingering nightmares, he’d felt chased by an unseen doom sure to catch him if he ever strayed off the right path. He envied knowing what the future held, whatever the limits and whatever dark days lay ahead.

“If any Athamein step on the field, leave them to me,” said Valdaris. “Or retreat if I’m gone and hold the defenses until I return.”

“They’re that dangerous?” asked Elzar. Though he winced, remembering the ambush that nearly cost him his life, he’d seen Valdaris kill several with a snap of his fingers at Pallados. Even Elaryn had killed a monk in Mindan with apparent ease.

“When together, yes.” Cannonfire cut through the air above. “Shall we?”

They turned and rejoined the company, setting off together for the front. They were an ominous sight, two armored commanders and the Cereman in his dark cloak, and Elzar could hear murmurs of excitement from the men behind.

Approaching one of the New City’s gates, Elzar spotted shining armor on a roof to their left and motioned to Valdaris.

“Daezuyn,” said Zavos. “He’s got nerve, that one.”

Valdaris raised his hand and flicked his wrist. They watched in horror as an enemy cannonball changed course, gained terrible speed, and smashed through the Selvan lord, throwing his body off the roof and into the street beside them.

“Problem solved,” said Valdaris.

Soldiers yelled from the roof and others from the parallel street ran to the body, but Zavos motioned the company forward. His crew at least knew of Daezuyn’s attempted coup, and soldiers loyal to Morraedd would have no love for the high lord’s rival in the Malda. Still, Elzar had to shake himself free of the shock before retaking his place at the front. He’d never imagined a lord’s death passing with so little ceremony.

They stepped through one of the gates and Elzar took a sharp breath. A few pockets of soldiers were stationed above where the road dropped, then stretched for miles into fields and farmland. The Selvan regiments ahead were smaller than Elzar had feared, scattered and disorganized. Worse, large companies of soldiers were charging across the field as if to take on the Naemreddan army in a frontal assault. Some dropped into ditches and others had cover from musketeers behind, but he’d never seen such folly on the battlefield.

“What in the blazing scheth is going on here?” he asked a soldier by the road.

“Feints to draw them in, sir,” said the man, surprised and speaking as though the answer were obvious. “Lord Daezuyn’s orders. Using the cover of nightfall while we can, sir.”

“Does that look like cover to you?” yelled Elzar. He pointed over the field, moonlight interrupted by a few stray clouds giving a clear line of sight from their position. “Call the retreat, now!”

The soldier looked stunned, and Elzar had half a mind to beat sense into him with his shield. He couldn’t believe even a traitor like Daezuyn would be so reckless as to leave their capital vulnerable.

“It’s the draemeir,” said Valdaris. “Morraedd is losing hold of the Selvan strains. The closer the Naemreddans get, especially with Athamein among them, the less control these men will have of their senses.”

“I can’t leave them,” said Elzar. He looked out over the field, across rows of burning wheat where the Naemreddan army advanced in a sea of black and red. Torches and thick shadow stretched across the horizon, then turned south almost as far as Elzar could see.

“I know,” said Valdaris. “Do what you can, then fall back before it’s too late. And don’t expect your men to see the field as well as you can. It’s a clear night, but they don’t have your gifts.”

Elzar nodded, then called the company forward. To his credit, the stunned soldier ran off and soon horns were sounding the retreat from the city walls. The company cleared a path through fleeing soldiers at a brisk trot, Valdaris keeping pace beside them with his hood down and cloak and long hair trailing in the wind as he ran. His curved dagger glimmered in the passing torchlight, drawn and flashing with each step forward.

It took mere minutes to join the fray, stray cannonballs and musket shots spraying dirt where they landed or whizzing overhead. Ditches and wooden fortifications offered little protection against the Naemreddans’ weaker but still fatal weaponry. Those companies who weren’t already retreating seemed lost in a daze, men and women cut down by enemy fire as Elzar watched. Others ignored the horns and continued forward, weapons drawn and charging mindlessly into an advancing mob of enemy soldiers.

Elzar picked out one of the smaller Selvan regiments. The soldiers were barely holding, already trailing bodies caught by gunfire before ever reaching the enemy.

“Zavos, let’s clear those ditches. I’ll take these soldiers and half our muskets to the front. With any luck we can convince these fools to pull back before they’re lost.”

They finished splitting the men just as a volley of cannons roared from across the field. Dirt exploded and soldiers screamed in all directions, but Valdaris held up his hand and sprinted forward. Elzar watched in awe as dark orbs caught in the air a few feet from the Cereman, then shot back out across the field with such speed that rippling heat marked their path and the air cracked like thunder.

“For Selvar!”

Elzar charged after Valdaris, sword drawn and his crystal shield cutting through the air as he ran. For a moment his legs felt numb, still moving but the action slow and lifeless before a charge of cool energy shot through his nerves. His sprint turned into flight, feet gliding over the dirt as he flashed through the air, skimming past Valdaris and crashing into the enemy host.

The crazed din of battle took over.

Elzar pushed himself off a fallen Naemreddan and withdrew his crystal sword from the man’s chest. He hadn’t even seen the man before striking him down. Soldiers in red and black stepped back while others rose from behind, only to be shot down by a volley of muskets come to Elzar’s aid. Valdaris leapt into the mass of enemies and lashed out with his dagger, gliding between foes and dodging strikes with ease before slashing throats or striking out with his free hand. He tossed his dagger, the weapon spinning across Elzar’s view before catching a Naemreddan who’d been about to run him through. The dagger ripped free from his chest as he fell, twirling through the air back into the Cereman’s hand.

Selvans with their serpent blades joined them in the attack. Lines of Naemreddan soldiers gave way to a mob of civilians armed with axes, spears, and dull shortswords. The heat of battle overtook the crisp cool of night, and clouds passing across the moon shrouded the battle in shadow. Screams and clashing steel poisoned the air, a dreadful cacophony no measure of Elzar’s focus could drown out. He could hear the horns above and calls for retreat, but the enemy advanced over them like a flood.

Valdaris caught his arm and pulled him away from the front.

“It’s time,” he said, just loud enough to hear. “Draw the light from the fire, and remember what I said. If you see the Athamein, pull back.”

He pointed up, and Elzar followed his gaze through the returning moonlight. A large arc of what looked like green mist rose over the battle ahead and touched the earth near one of the rear trenches, spreading out in a noxious cloud over the dirt. As his eyes returned to the field, he stepped back with a start.

Valdaris was gone.

Another gaseous arc appeared overhead to the right, rising through the air before slamming into the dirt. Elzar looked forward in time to see a ball of gas coming straight for him and rolled just before the dirt exploded where he’d been. Something dark and heavy bounced and rolled to a stop, green mist spreading out from the orb with an endless hiss.

Elzar stepped away and looked up as the first arc erupted in flame. Fire shot through the sky, following the arc down to the earth and igniting the trench below as the musketeers within screamed in agony.

More lines of fire traced their way over the battle. Elzar could see enemy trebuchets in the distance, launching the strange projectiles like giant slings before torches lit the trailing gas. They were trying to cut off the Selvan retreat.

The realization struck him just as fire ignited the gas arc directly overhead. He felt a strange warmth in his bones as the flames drew near. Time slowed, and he watched in wonder as individual plumes of gas lit and branched out in rays of orange light. He raised his arm, drawn to the coming inferno, and as his crystal blade cut through the line of gas, the fire snuffed out. Light streaked out from across the arc, raced through the clear blade and rushed into Elzar’s body. He'd never felt so alive. He could barely breathe, his awareness rushing out in a cascade of power as light from the other arcs and the flaming trench behind him rushed into the sword with a blinding flash. Even nearby torches snuffed out, soldiers turning his way in wonder.

Darkness closed in, but his eyes saw all. Light flooded his senses with an overwhelming power that made him gasp for breath, the world around him lit by flickering beams as the moon crept back out from behind a cloud.

Thunder boomed overhead and Elzar stumbled forward, hands on his knees and weapons hanging limp as he tried to recover. He noticed in passing the heavy thud of footsteps as his fellow soldiers fled to either side, running and tripping over the bodies of their fallen brethren in desperate panic.

Zavos shouted his name, somewhere to the right, but Elzar barely heard. He felt a rush of wind in his hair and looked up in time to see the flash of liquid fire as an enormous black dragon swept in.

Chapter 76
Living Is Lost

Alessa ducked into a spiral stairway just as guards rounded a corner ahead. She’d done her best to navigate the maze of palace corridors, but she’d lost all sense of direction. Seth was supposed to be somewhere in here and she was meant to help him, but her thoughts were dizzy and glares from flickering torches filled her head with pain.

The sickness was spreading. Soon, one strain or the other would overtake her. She collapsed a few steps into the stairway, far enough to remain unseen as the guards passed, sighing with relief but unsure she could carry on.

Help... let me.

She shook her head. Elaryn’s voice came more often now, driven to a frenzy by the woman seated across the banquet table while they ate. Morraedd had spoken of the woman’s sister, Vorsha, and Alessa was sure Elaryn was responsible for her death. She saw passing images of an explosion, black cliffs and strange reptiles flying through the sky. The memories were distorted, jumbled, but guilt and alarm flashed through her with every thought of that sinister woman and the red mist swirling around her body.

She tapped at her wrist, trusting her cybernetics could map a way out. A blast of fiery pain and ringing louder than anything she’d ever heard split her head. She nearly passed out before pressing down on her wrist with the last of her strength, gasping in relief as the sensors shut off.

Help... let me.

“No!” she yelled. Her throat was thick and sore, and her outburst threw her into a fit of coughing.

She thought she heard the rush of footsteps below and scrambled higher into the stairway. A short corridor ended ahead in a red wooden door she pried open before collapsing on the other side. She was still coughing, each heave scratching her throat with terrible pain. Her next cough spat blood across her arm.

Elaryn’s voice grew more desperate, echoing in her mind, but she shook her head and pressed on. Alessa hadn’t come this far to succumb to the draemeir.

Release me!

Alessa’s eyes shot open. The voice was different — still a woman’s but older, full of rage and despair.

She took in the sight around her, what looked like an ancient library. Shelves of books and scrolls filled the level she was on before opening in a large square to the level below. Crystal chandeliers hung over the expanse, rays of light in every color shimmering out and blurring Alessa’s vision despite their beauty. She closed her eyes, standing and feeling a soothing warmth from the light wash over her body.

Murderer!

What felt like warm, stale breath brushed against her cheek. Slowly, she opened her eyes once more. A woman with golden hair and a deep gash across her slender neck stood inches from her and vanished in a burst of red mist. The mist sank to the floor, then climbed over nearby shelves and twisted back around, crawling out toward her.

Alessa turned to run, but the door behind her was barely visible, obscured by a wall of red mist with tendrils of the malevolent strain reaching out like the desperate hands of beggars.

Not like this. She scrambled back, landing hard on her tailbone before forcing herself toward the balcony. The drop wasn’t far, and she figured she could manage hanging from the rails, even in her weakened state.

“So many lost.” The woman’s voice was clear now, not just another voice in Alessa’s head. “You promised we’d be safe... that our daughter would know peace and plenty. So much war... so many dead... murderer.”

Alessa turned, sadness and longing washing over her senses and forcing her to look. The woman stood beyond the shelves, hands pressed to the red door and back turned to the shimmering image of a man. His hair was long and black with traces of silver, and he wore bright armor with a navy cape trailing behind. As he approached the woman, he pulled a crescent dagger of shining bronze metal from his belt.

“Forgive me.”

The voice was Morraedd’s, and the woman turned in alarm just as the mirage vanished.

Elaryn’s mother... Talrinn. The name came to her just as jets of red mist raced from the doorway and slammed into Alessa’s chest, throwing her over the balcony rail. She gasped for air, her lungs full of fire, but her shoulder crashed hard into a table below and she rolled in splintering wood and scattered papers. Her cough returned with a vengeance, blood spraying out across the parchments and the library’s tiled floor.

“Are you alright?”

It took her a moment to recognize the voice. Seth crouched and leaned over her, his hand on her arm. His touch seared her skin like a hot iron and an attempted scream turned into another bloody cough. Worse, the stains across Alessa’s face and neck erupted in pain as though she were being doused in that monstrous ink all over again. The image of a skelva flashed through her mind, blood dripping from its fangs and four green eyes staring into her, and she writhed in panic. Seth gripped her all the tighter, trying to calm her, which only made the pain double and shoot through her nerves down her entire body.

Delirium fogged her senses, sparing her the continued agony as she slipped unconscious.

All was dark. A thousand voices whispered in the shadows, their meaning scattered in what felt like a tangled dream.

Lost... life is lost... Living... Living is lost... To live... us both... us all.

Somewhere in the sea of whispers, Elaryn’s voice rose above the rest. Faces flashed across Alessa’s vision, first of the older woman, then of Elaryn, and finally the young Selvan girl, that poor, sweet girl so full of darkness and yet unbound by its evil. She felt Elaryn calling to her, pleading.

Live on. Live on for us all. To live is to be lost, but alive. At least you’re alive. Endure, and live.

“We have to find her,” said Alessa. She opened her eyes. The pain was gone, and stale air filled her lungs with unhindered breaths, her throat clear and the sickness cleansed from her blood and bones. She leaned up off the floor, watching sparkling gold climb across her body, then lay back down. The feeling of true rest, her first in what felt like years, washed over her.

“Find who?” asked Seth. “Come on, we need to get out of here.”

She sat up, a sense of renewal passing through her as the sparkling gold sank into her flesh. She’d taken Elaryn’s meaning. She forced herself to accept that letting the Gildramor’s strain take hold was preferable to casting aside the gift of life she’d been given. She owed it to those who came before her to endure.

She looked the captain over for the first time since he’d found her. A line of blood stained the loose-fitting nightshirt hanging off his shoulders like a sheet. His feet were bare, and sweat trickled from his messy brown hair into blood and scruff lining his chin.

“I guess we’ve both seen better days,” she said.

Seth smiled and helped her to her feet.

“He said you’d know a way out of here.”

“How should I—”

A bullet sliced her hair and barely missed her ear. A second guard fired his pistol from across the library, but Seth was already between them, hand raised and the lead ball stopping inches from his palm. It shot back through the air and the first guard’s neck snapped back as he crumbled into dust.

“I’ll hold them!” yelled Seth. “Find us a way out of here!”

Alessa froze. The second guard drew a serpent sword, the curves of its blade shimmering with white light, and charged. He leapt over the shattered table and raised his blade just as Seth flicked his wrists. A crescent dagger appeared in each hand. One was bronze, a perfect match to the dagger Morraedd held in her sinister vision on the upper level. Alessa felt Elaryn’s essence shudder with rage and horror — her father had murdered Talrinn, then gifted the weapon to his daughter. She never knew.

Seth used the bronze dagger to meet the guard’s blade above while the second, silver dagger slipped into his gut. The guard crumbled in a sickening heap of ash and dust, a sight that made Alessa want to hurl.

“Come on!” yelled Seth, darting past her between two bookshelves. Before she could join him, two musketeers appeared over the rail where she’d fallen and aimed for her chest.

Her basilica rod was in her hand before she knew it. Without her even extending the blade, a rippling wave of clear energy and raging fire burst forth from the rod’s end and threw her arm back from the recoil. Bullets caught in the wall of power before it crashed into the upper level. Force and fire destroyed everything in their path, the shooters vanishing in the flames before the balcony and rows of bookshelves collapsed to the floor below.

Such power... he never knew... can never know...

Elaryn’s whispers clouded Alessa’s thoughts — she watched the destruction ahead in a daze. Seth had to shake her free before the balcony above tilted violently and threatened to collapse with the rest of the upper level.

“Those swords sure are something,” he said behind her. “Elaryn didn’t know, did she?”

“No,” said Alessa, turning and following Seth to the far wall. Stray memories of the Zerakiim training flowed across her awareness. “If her master knew he was using the weapons of gods as crude tools for assassination, we’d be fleeing him right now, not Morraedd. I still can’t believe there were basilicas in this world before we ever arrived. And I think... I think they brought the draemeir with them... How can you even hope to fight a war that crosses time itself?”

“You think the draemeir came from the future, like you and Vald?”

She pushed past Seth to the nearest bookshelf. Smoke was flooding the library, and soon fire would follow. But something about the wall ahead jogged her memory — Elaryn’s memory.

“We always thought the draemeir were somehow... artificial,” she answered, distracted by the sting of smoke in her eyes and the familiar feel of the leather books lining the rear shelf. “Nature can do amazing things... beautiful... terrifying... but evil... is conscious... human. Something on this scale? Impossible.”

She heard Seth ask something in response, but she was fixed on the strange books. She started tossing them on the floor, digging through the books and scrolls in a frenzy, not even sure what she was looking for. She cleared one shelf, then another.

There.

A Selvan obelisk was carved into the back wall, subtle but unmistakable. She pressed the etched stone and the entire brick clicked back. To their right, a separate bookshelf shook and slid forward.

“Our way out,” said Alessa.

She stepped over and pulled hard on the bookcase. Its back panel was fixed to a stone door that sparked and screeched off the library floor as she pushed, but soon they had enough room to squeeze into the tunnel behind. The door sealed of its own accord before they could react.

“Ye done took long enough.”

Alessa tripped back and felt Seth’s daggers jab into her back before he could pull them away. Yemalla. Blast it. She was grateful her mesh suit caught Seth’s knives, but they still hurt.

“How in the blazes did you get in here?”

“Skelva been watchin’ the mountains long before y’r Selvan friends been makin’ city home here, yeah?” said Yemalla. “We been knowin’ all the secrets. Thought y’d come sooner.”

Alessa’s eyes adjusted to the dark, and she made out Yemalla’s thin frame a few steps ahead. Narrow stairs led down and away from the palace and the tunnel was cool and crisp with fresh mountain air.

“Do you hear that?” asked Seth.

Alessa followed after Yemalla but nodded. Cannons and gunfire echoed out from a distance, but a far more terrible sound cut through the night, and it was getting closer. Dragons. Roars from an entire swarm overlapped in a chaotic song of death, slowly overwhelming the battle beyond as the trio descended through the tunnel.

A few dozen steps down, the tunnel ended abruptly at an iron gate, barring some sort of platform with cables and pulleys. The clear base revealed a gap in the mountain, a thin crevice just wide enough to see burning structures far below and letting in the night breeze to ruffle their clothes.

“A lift,” said Seth. “Clever.”

Yemalla turned to Alessa.

“Buster said y’d know what t’ do next. Where we goin’?”

Chapter 77
Athamein Warrior

Elzar felt the heat searing his skin before the raging torrent of liquid fire even touched him. The moment stretched out, as the most dire moments in life often do. The agony of a thousand sunburns blistering his face lasted far longer in his mind than his death would for those around him. He’d seen dragon fire reduce men to ash and shadow-stains in an instant.

As the rushing fire touched his sword, held up with his shield in a vain attempt to protect his face, light rushed into the blade. He gasped, holding for all he was worth as boiling oils drenched his armor and washed over every inch of his body. The pain was excruciating, but nothing like he’d imagined. If anything, he felt cold. Electricity raced through his nerves while his flesh felt like he’d been tossed in a winter lake.

When he tried to breathe, fumes and pungent oils filled his mouth. He broke into a coughing fit just before the dragon’s bulk slammed into his shield and threw him back. His head snapped into the dirt and a fresh dose of oils slid down his throat. The earth shook as the monster crashed behind him.

He tried to rise, coughing violently and unable to see. His eyes were sealed shut, frozen in place by the fierce cold and stinging like sharp needles where the oils slipped between his eyelids. He swung out his arms for balance and something slammed into his waist from the side. He couldn’t think, and a roar from the dragon blared out with such intensity that he feared his eardrums would shatter. He flew through the air and rolled before the ground gave out and he tumbled into a ditch.

He'd lost his sword. As he rose once more, eyes still shut, he realized he could see. Through the bronze of his eyelids, he caught faint impressions of light dancing off his surroundings in reds, oranges, and browns. His crystal sword stuck up from the dirt, shining bright white against a backdrop of charred black where the bodies of burnt musketeers lay piled.

The dragon roared, this time followed by gunshots and a yell from Zavos somewhere nearby. Still blinded, Elzar moved for his sword and the light trembled, shifting with him and dizzying his senses as the world spun and stopped when he did. He held out his arms for balance, trying again and catching himself with the hilt of his sword, barely able to stand.

Men screamed above and red light danced over the ditch. Elzar moved without thought, trusting his heightened senses and planting one foot on the ditch wall, leaping across to the other, then flying up over the first wall with more force than he’d anticipated. He planted hard in the dirt, the sharp edge of his shield catching the fall, then rolled aside as the dragon’s wing slashed through the air where he’d been.

His reaction was instant, as though the strange light were guiding his movement. He raced in, crossing the distance in three long bounds and planting his sword in the dragon’s flesh just below its neck. The monster roared in agony and shook him off, but gunfire stopped it from turning his way. Lead balls skipped off its scales and a few broke through weaker plates with splashes of black blood that hissed as it struck the dirt.

The dragon spewed out another rush of liquid fire, but Elzar pulled its light into himself as it left the dragon’s jaws. Light ripped away from the oils and drew out from the dragon’s body, filling Elzar with a wave of raw power that crashed through his nerves and flooded his mind. He fell to his knees.

When he looked up through his sealed eyelids, the dragon’s neck curved over him, jaws wide and ready to strike.

Zavos robbed it of the chance. He came out of nowhere, slipping under the dragon’s wing and planting his serpent blade in its neck. The beast’s head shot up in agony, and Elzar rushed in, striking just inches above his first blow and twisting the blade. He and Zavos switched spots as the dragon’s head came crashing down, Zavos leaping on its back while Elzar spun, slashing across the dragon’s neck before stabbing out with a series of deep lunges. A musket caught the monster between the eyes and Zavos delivered the killing blow, plunging his sword deep into its spine.

It took Elzar a moment to gather his senses. He wiped the oil from his eyes and looked up at his grinning friend.

“Well done.”

“What a fight!” said Zavos with a cheer. “I still can’t believe you survived a—”

He never finished the remark. His head jerked back and Zavos flew out across the battlefield. Before Elzar could yell, he sensed what was coming. He barely lifted his shield in time before a cannonball tore through the flesh of the dragon’s neck and slammed into him with such force that his ribs cracked. He bounced and rolled across the dirt, gasping in pain and winded from the shock.

The light in his body trickled out in shimmering waves like an aurora. He could feel his ribs mending with short bursts of soothing heat, but his only thought was of his friend.

He pushed himself up, racing over the dragon’s head while soldiers behind hollered for him to return. The mob of Naemreddans charged past him on either side, circling the fallen beast while he pressed forward unhindered.

Ahead, he witnessed Zavos’s final stand.

His friend was locked in battle with an Athamein monk. His serpent blade lashed out, met by deft swipes from a black gladius that seemed alive with dark energy. Zavos was limping, favoring his right leg and each parry forcing him lower until he fought on one knee. The monk made a final horizontal swipe, then stabbed his blade through Zavos’s chest.

Elzar charged, each step grounding his resolve. He’d mourn when this was over. The monk pulled his blade free and flicked his wrist, a wall of clear energy tossing Zavos into the rampaging army to be trampled underfoot.

Though Elzar kept his nerves in check, he felt the light welling up inside him so he was ready to burst with fiery rage by the time he reached his enemy.

He made his first hit count. A false step forced the monk into a misplaced dodge, and he swung hard with an undercut. Their swords met with a sharp ring and a shockwave of power blasted out to either side, tearing a burning line in the dirt to Elzar’s left and ripping several Naemreddans in half to his right.

The monk drew back, his features stern but calm, more the marks of a trained soldier than a crazed fanatic. He looked a match for Elzar in age and had bested Zavos in skill, whatever advantages in power he’d used. Elzar steeled himself for the fight ahead, his duty to his friend outweighing any warning he’d been given by the Cereman. There was no turning back. And judging from the endless waves of Naemreddans running past on either side, he’d be lucky to leave this fight a prisoner, if he survived.

His opponent lunged forward with a quick strike to his shield. Elzar met him lunge for lunge, dodging the monk’s next strike and swiping out with his shield’s sharp edge, but his enemy stepped out of range and steadied his arm for the next attempt. He was well-trained.

His next strike came as a feint, the gladius twisting in his hand and swiping out so Elzar’s shield was knocked away from his chest. He barely turned in time to dodge a backhanded stab, swiping out and missing as the monk ducked and twisted into another stab that Elzar knocked back with his shield. Sparks skipped off his armor as the gladius skimmed his side, then caught him under the arm as the monk swept up before Elzar could maneuver back.

He groaned, blood staining his shirt even as light and energy rushed to the wound. He felt darkness from the blade digging through his flesh like burrowing wasps before the light cast the poison out and sealed the cut, but the monk was already pressing his advantage. He stabbed hard, hitting Elzar’s shield with such force that he stumbled back, taking several shuffling steps before he regained his balance.

The monk closed the distance with a single bound, a sphere of power opening around him and his next strike throwing Elzar on his back as another shockwave tore up the dirt between them.

Elzar’s shield seemed to absorb some measure of the force, glowing with rippling waves of green light as he pushed himself up. He braced for the next attack. Hints of brown to either side caught his attention too late, and a crushing force pressed down on his shoulders and back, forcing him to his knees. He could barely raise his head enough to see four monks, two to either side, holding out their palms as the first monk closed in.

So this is how it ends.

He pushed back against the invisible force, refusing to go down without a fight, but the inevitability of death stiffened his nerves and he braced for the pain to come. He locked eyes with the monk and felt dark intent cloud his senses. The monk’s sphere enveloped him and the gladius lunged for his heart.

The blade hit his armor and stopped. The monk stared at his weapon and pressed with all his might, face strained by the effort. Clear energy crackled and vibrated around the blade’s edges, and the monk pulled his arm back before throwing his full force into a swing for Elzar’s head. The blade stopped a foot away, trapped in more clear energy as the air cracked and opened around them in dozens of jagged fissures.

The fissures sucked Elzar in and his world went dark, replaced a moment later by a sharp thud as he collapsed on a cobblestone street in the New City.

Chapter 78
Here in the Darkness

Melladar carried the child in her arms, each step making her shudder with panic as Rhynwhen wheezed and groaned in pain.

“This way,” said Vorgose.

She led them up a slanted street, past structures carved into the mountain, their surfaces covered in what looked like metallic webs. She recognized the dark metal from the ruins on Pallados.

“These are Chazendur ruins,” said Mella.

“Very good.” Vorgose kept her eyes forward, her pace regal and her voice lilting with condescension. “The obelisks are ours, and much of what you see here was rebuilt to house our forges. And to provide shelter if Selvandrea ever came under threat. But Selvar would never have risen without the Chazendur foundation upon which we built. And neither would your people have come to exist, for that matter. A shame you’re such an ungrateful lot, but living in trees would addle even the noblest senses, I suppose.”

Mella knew the remark was meant to anger her, but the slight passed her by like water rushing over a smooth rock. The woman’s tone was so disingenuous, so lost in her bewildering arrogance and sing-song voice, that Mella could hardly restrain a laugh despite the circumstances. She almost felt pity for the woman, but she sensed something dark and sinister lurking below her deranged facade, coiled and waiting to strike.

They passed a large stone platform surrounding the base of another obelisk. Rhyn groaned as they approached. Men and women of all ages, dressed in white, knelt in rows facing the obelisk, chanting phrases in ancient Siivalar. Selvans in black and silver uniforms, each wearing metal bands around their wrists with glowing Palladon pearls, guarded the platform on all sides. Lines of dark metal ran through the platform and met at a wider square around the obelisk.

As Mella watched, a boy no older than Rhyn mumbled in Siivalar, “Bae’vess,” over and over. The dark metal set in the platform beside him flickered light blue with each word. Vocalir. She watched in horror as he pushed out one final word, then collapsed. Two guards dragged him away, his eyes open and white with death.

“What is this madness?” asked Mella, her voice muffled by shock.

“Their sacrifice will save us all,” said Vorgose. She left it at that.

As Mella stepped closer, the vocalir power humming from the obelisk filled her with a cold rush. The pearls around her neck, and several of those around the guards’ wrists, began to glow gold and she pushed the sensation down before anyone else noticed. She knew her secret, that her power was alive and well despite Vorgose’s ploy, would be the key to surviving this place.

“Bae...” Rhyn mumbled in her arms, delirious and unable to finish the word. Mella doubted anything would come of it if she could speak. She wanted to feel glad that Rhyn’s terrible burden, that ocean of voices haunting her every hour, had been taken away, but as the child clung to life she wished for anything that would restore her.

Vorgose led them toward a gleaming silver bridge ahead, then veered left.

“Place her in the water,” said Vorgose. “It won’t take long.”

Mella looked into the water, its surface shimmering with white light and a rock shelf jutting out a few feet from the waterline before plummeting into unknown depths. Carefully, she lowered Rhyn into the shallows so she was sitting on the shelf with water up to her shoulders. Her head lolled back against the cave floor.

“These waters have incredible properties,” said Vorgose. “It may be why the Chazendur settled here in the first place.”

Mella watched white light dance over Rhyn’s body and sink into her pale skin. Her eyes were still closed, but her breathing settled into a steady rhythm.

“We learned early on that time spent in these caves suppresses the draemeir’s hold on a mind. And so the idea was born to turn that control against itself.”

Mella turned away, looking down the water’s edge to large, open buildings where craftsmen and smiths worked at a series of forges. More Selvans in white stood by anvils, speaking into serpent blades and armor as they were hammered down and cooled in basins of sparkling water.

Mella thought she spotted hints of green and brown behind one of the forges. Vorgose continued droning on, and Mella wished she could scream her disinterest. Between the loss of her father and Rhyn almost dying under her care, the last thing she wanted was to listen to the raving justifications of this Selvan witch.

“And then we built the obelisks, and everything changed. We discovered first that we could pool our vocalir to depths of power beyond our wildest dreams. And when the second obelisk linked with the first, we found our answer. And created the first Siivalans, of course.”

Mella looked up.

“Ah yes,” said Vorgose. “Not so different from us as you’d like to believe. Your ancestors were the first caught in the barrier — those who survived, anyway. Selvans still host to the draemeir cast them out, of course. Your people took shelter in the heartwoods, a place with magic of its own that protected you from falling back under the draemeir’s hold.”

A shrill whistle caught Mella’s attention. She’d doubted her eyes when she spotted Siivalan colors by the forges, but not anymore. Only her sister knew that call.

“We knew the draemeir would come for your people, sooner or later. None who escape the strains survive for long. So we found a more elegant solution: the Pact.”

The woman grinned, her face tilted in pity while her eyes gleamed, hungry and sinister.

“You see us as oppressors, but your service to us convinces the draemeir that you aren’t a threat, still subject to their influence. And thus, your people have thrived under our watch. Your father knew this, rest his soul.”

Mella seethed. She’d never accept her father’s betrayal, and she’d had enough of this vile woman.

“Watch her,” she said, motioning to Rhyn. “I need space.”

“Don’t wander far,” said Vorgose, kneeling to hold Rhyn in place. “We see all that happens here.”

Not all, thought Mella. She felt the power welling up inside her and resisted the urge to cut Vorgose down where she stood. She stepped back along the carved road and made her way around the nearest forge.

“Are you alright?” asked Sevora. She crouched between the forges and a rock wall dropping from the obelisk’s base. “We saw what happened. I tried to help.”

One of the Ambrovian knights knelt behind Sevora in an empty pocket where the obelisk light seemed unable to break through. Other kossans crouched farther back, sneaking between the forges. Overhead, thin strands of shadow crawled between rays from the obelisks and dispersed, only to materialize again and continue crawling over the forges.

“How did you get here?” asked Mella.

“We came over the Savolors,” said Sevora. “Dothan’s gone, shot down in our first ambush. The Naemreddan army is coming, and I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“They’re already here,” said Mella. Her voice sounded curt and took both sisters by surprise. They hadn’t seen each other since Pallados, and something had shifted for Mella in the time since. The woman before her, once her closest friend and confidant, felt foreign and aloof. “And Father... Father is dead.”

The empty pocket shuddered around Sevora, vocalir light closing in before the pocket grew tenfold and pushed it back. Sevora’s eyes looked black with exhaustion, and something dark lingered over her like a sickness. Mella heard muffled hollers and shuffling above them, but her eyes were fixed on her grieving sister.

“How?”

“He was... murdered,” said Mella, hesitating as she considered how Sevora would respond to the truth. “By Morraedd.”

Sevora’s eyes went hard. “Is Vald here?”

Mella nodded.

“Come on,” said Sevora, motioning back away from the forges. “We have a way out.”

“Not without Rhyn,” said Mella.

The knight behind Sevora looked up, tapping at his wrist. “The girl? She’s here? I don’t have any reading on her.”

Mella looked back, careful to stay beyond Vorgose’s view.

“They did something to her... they somehow stole her power,” said Mella. “The woman who brought us claims these obelisks can cleanse someone of the draemeir.”

“That’s not...” The knight’s voice trailed off under his helmet.

“What do you care about a Selvan heiress, anyway?” asked Sevora. “Let her cousin look after her and be done with them. This city is a bomb waiting to blow — if the Naemreddans don’t take it, the monster from Pallados will. It’s already here... and it attacked our home.”

“What?” asked Mella. “How do you know?”

Valdaris had said the monster reached Mobrid and stole Seth’s old korossa, but he’d promised her people were safe. They knew it was coming for the girl, and her mind flashed with memories of the vile creatures. Her thoughts spiraled out of control, imagining those savage arrows, axes, and claws cutting into her people, those hideous bodies crawling over the ancient blackwoods, that dark prime cloaked in swirling shadows as it watched her world burn and decay.

She looked up at the fleeting tendrils of shadow, dark mist that now felt all too familiar.

“Here already...”

Mella put her hand to her korossa and turned, not waiting for an answer from Sevora. A warning in her head confirmed what she already knew. The girl was in danger.

Vorgose blocked the alley entrance, arms crossed and smirking as Selvan musketeers appeared overhead and aimed down at Sevora’s company.

“As I said, we see all.”

Vorgose motioned beside her, and Selvan soldiers charged into the alley from around the obelisk’s base. Mella saw more soldiers cut off the kossans from behind.

“A striking resemblance, I must say,” said Vorgose, turning back toward the bridge as the soldiers ushered them forward. “At least you have this reunion for comfort on such a tragic day. Your father was an indispensable ally. He’ll be sorely missed in the days ahead.”

“What do you m—”

Mella cut off her sister’s question. “You left Rhyn in the water?”

“Relax, young one,” said Vorgose, her voice lilting with scorn worse even than before. “My columas are seeing to her recovery.”

But as they came around the bend, everyone stopped. A man and woman in those black and silver uniforms lay dead at the water’s edge. Rhyn’s head lolled to the side between them, and looming over her, another Ambrovian knight stood hunched over, blood dripping into the water from gashes where his armor had been ripped away.

“Daggen!”

The first knight pulled free from the soldiers at his side and ran forward as the second knight looked up. His helmet was broken down the middle, revealing a mangled face obscured by dripping blood and torn flesh. He groaned, then tripped forward and the blood and flesh turned black, then grey, and finally scattered as dust while the now empty armor clattered on the cave floor.

Behind the fallen knight, Rhyn’s head slipped into the water.

“No!” yelled Mella, taking a long stride forward before the entire cavern went dark.

Deepest darkness, black and malevolent, closed in. Mella took two more steps toward the water, Sevora’s voice calling her name muffled by the dark. Mella’s breath caught in the shadows so the only sound she heard clearly was the racing pulse of her heartbeat.

The obelisks flashed blue, then purple, tiny bursts of blue flame caged by the growing darkness. Mella stumbled over the empty armor, her throat constricting with nausea as her boot slid through a pile of fine dust, but she pressed on. She knelt beside the armor and crawled forward, plunging her arms into the water and finding... nothing. The faintest glimmers of white light met her arms as she waved them through the water. She was about to dive in, fearing Rhyn had slipped beyond the shelf into the lake’s depths, when the light passed through her body and lit her surroundings with a dim glow.

Tentacles of black mist stretched out in all directions, crawling along the cavern floor like serpents and consuming whatever they touched. She watched forges to her left collapse, confused Selvans crushed by falling stone or wrapped in the mist and swallowed bit by bit, not even dust remaining to mark where they died. To Mella’s right, Vorgose stood shrouded in red mist that clashed with the darkness around her, her lips snarling and savage like a feral beast fighting off a pack of wolves.

Mella watched in paralyzed horror as the dark mist consumed more Selvans fleeing over the bridge. Her gaze followed shadowy tendrils away from the bridge as it collapsed, up over the water to where the vile strands gathered and writhed around the darkened figure of a girl.

Rhyn.

Mella had never been so terrified. Rhyn’s figure floated on a bed of shadows, her eyes orange and glaring, golden hair painted white against a backdrop of pure black. Her body pulsed with black and purple fire as the dark mist swam over her limbs.

Rhyn stretched out her hand.

“Fey’ahx!”

Her voice was shrill and hollow, like a harsh whisper, but loud enough to echo across the entire cavern so the word returned again and again, each echo sending sharp pain through Mella’s ears and searing down her nerves.

Fey’ahx. Fey’ahx. Fey’ahx.

Tendrils of shadow and fire shot out from Rhyn’s hand. Mella drew her korossa on instinct, barely raising it in time to block the malevolent onslaught. A rush of white light from the mountain waters and the gilden power inside her flowed up through her arms, igniting a wall of blue fire that reached out from her sword and caught the relentless shadows. But it wouldn’t hold. Even as she relinquished control to the power inside her, she could feel the crushing weight of unimaginable malice breaking through, a thousand dark voices whispering for her to give in.

She fell to one knee, holding her sword over her head and letting the wall of fire wrap her in a narrow sphere. The strain was unbearable. Power rushed through her and stretched every muscle of her body and mind to the point of breaking. She turned away as flickers of black fire broke through, scorching her arm and burning the side of her face. Weak and desperate, she looked back, praying for aid she knew would come too late.

Her arm gave out, and the darkness closed in.

Chapter 79
Heart of Malice

Sevora could barely withstand the hunger.

As she led the kossans through the hidden city, stalking Melladar and the strange woman deeper into the ruins, an insatiable need ate at her bones. The hunger weakened her steps, as though she’d wither and die without satisfying this need for more. The longer she lingered under the swells of raw power flowing out from the Selvan obelisks, the weaker she became, consumed by a desire to draw all that power into herself. Images flashed through her mind of her korossa in hand, stabbing into the stone spires and absorbing their vocalir magic. Her sword flashed with dark energy and the obelisks cracked, then toppled. The tall spires crashed into the crowds of Selvans and their screams sustained the dark presence growing inside her.

She couldn’t explain what was happening to her, but she was frightened. Feeling so weak and afraid brought on a fresh wave of rage. As her hand rested on the fanged hilt of her korossa, she became more and more certain Valdaris had known what the mysterious weapon would do to her. But instead of answers, she imagined stabbing him through the chest, sucking him dry of all that power and vaunted knowledge keeping the others beholden to him.

No more.

She squared her shoulders and pressed on, oblivious to the shadowy tendrils passing overhead. The company slipped behind large, smoking structures echoing the sounds of bellows and hammers within.

At a bend around the last structure, she spotted Melladar lowering the Selvan girl into a wide lake. She motioned for the others to hold back, then lifted her fingers to her mouth and whistled out their old jay call. She hoped Mella would hear it beneath the pounding hammers and the great waterfalls pouring in from above.

At the edge of the forge she risked looking out again despite the passing crowds, but Mella was crouched over the girl and listening to the woman speak. Sevora couldn’t make out the words. She stepped back and crouched against the wall, watching scattered Selvans stagger toward a gleaming bridge. The Selvans looked dazed, confused, and somehow empty, as though the life had been sapped from them and they were walking only from an instinctual drive to carry on. She’d seen the woman command jets of sinister red mist, like the zovakem’s power but somehow different, casting Mella through the obelisk barrier. She seethed at the thought of her sister turned into one of these lifeless husks by dark Selvan magic.

But then Mella appeared before her, stepping cautiously around the corner and wearing open shock at the sight of their kossan company.

So she heard after all, thought Sevora. She almost congratulated her sister for sneaking up on them but thought better of it. The last thing Mella needed was an ego — her doe-like naivety would only get her into more trouble than it already did without Sevora taking charge. Starting with getting her away from these Selvans and that bastard Cereman.

“Are you alright?” she asked after a pause.

She’d expected a blissful reunion, but Mella seemed cold and distant as they talked. Her sister’s news, that their father had been murdered by the high lord, explained all. Mella had always been closer to Callum than Sevora, perhaps because they were more reserved than her and Breddel. But in truth, she’d always harbored a certain disdain for her father, wondering why her mother had chosen such a weak man for a partner.

As they carried on, something felt wrong. Mella knew it too — she looked up after Sevora mentioned the zovakem, then put her hand to her korossa and turned.

The sinister woman was blocking their path. The moment she appeared, the hunger inside Sevora doubled, and she almost charged the woman in a wild craze before musketeers and soldiers leapt out around them. Then the woman slighted their father, and hunger gave way to consummate rage.

She should have been furious with herself, and even more so with her kossans, for letting common Selvans catch them unawares. And she wanted to throttle Mella for caring more about the Selvan child than an offense to their father, their family name, their shared honor and status. Instead, she followed the Selvan woman forward in dumb silence. Desperation clouded Sevora’s senses, not a need to absorb so much as to destroy, to compress and consume with such totality that no trace of the evil swarming in this treacherous woman remained.

They all stopped. Daggen was there, still alive and dripping blood over the Selvan girl from gashes in his armor. Sevora could feel the zovakem’s taint in every drop as it fell. Falcen rushed for his cursed comrade, and the cave went dark.

Sevora basked in the darkness. She could see the others struggling, could feel the tendrils of shadowy mist crawling over them and trying in vain to break through the empty sphere around her. Noillin, Falcen, and a few Selvan soldiers stood safely inside her barrier, but she watched in horror as the zovakem’s power swarmed over the remaining kossans and swallowed them as they thrashed about, silent and choking on thick shadows as they fell.

“Stay with me,” she said, unsure if the others heard. She was already moving, her gaze fixed on the Selvan woman and the jets of red and black mist battling around her.

Light flashed to their left — Melladar held off the shadows with a wall of blue fire. Sevora saw little else. Her focus was on the woman ahead. Hunger and rage commanded her steps until she was a few feet from the clashing strains, black and red fire flickering in hot bursts where the draemeir mist collided. As Sevora stepped closer, the black mist withdrew from her sphere while the red mist retreated into the woman’s body. She turned in time to see Sevora unsheathe her korossa, twist into a flourish, and plunge the sword through the woman’s heart in a single, smooth motion.

The taldrine korossa burned in twisting embers of black and purple as the woman screamed. And not just her — a second woman, dressed in a bloodstained scarlet dress, cried out into the darkness and tried to crawl away from the first woman’s body, only to be pulled back by the red mist and absorbed into the flaming sword.

Visions flooded Sevora’s mind.

She saw the woman in scarlet seated around a fire, surrounded by obsidian cliffs. An explosion threw her on her back and pain ripped through her organs. As she tried to sit up, a golden-haired woman clad in black charged, driving her knee into the woman’s face, and the vision went dark. But something of those obsidian cliffs remained — an intuition, a secret confirmed by the golden-haired assassin, a source of power nearby that called to the hunger in Sevora and demanded she follow.

A second vision eclipsed the first.

“They’re a threat to everything we’ve worked for,” said a tall man with silver hair. He stood over a long table in what looked like a throne room, bright sunlight streaming through tall windows above pillars of pine to either side. “The Zovah could awaken before we’re ready, or worse.”

“Could they not prove useful?” asked a woman, the same woman whose malevolent heart now struggled in vain against Sevora’s blade. “For an entire people to grow resistant to the strains... it’s everything we ever wanted.”

“And yet, they’re beyond our aid,” said the man, tightening his hand around a sword as he studied maps on the table. “Their fanatical rebellion has earned the draemeir’s attention, and the world will burn for their ignorance.”

“So what can we do?”

“Destroy them,” said the man. “We may already be too late, but stopping them will buy us the time we need.”

He pinned a dagger to the nearest map.

“I’ll lead the invasion of Ceremai myself. Before they end us all.”

The vision collapsed, and Sevora stumbled back in shock at the sight of burning flesh before her. The woman’s body broke and scattered in heaps of dust as the korossa pulled away. Power far beyond what she’d tasted when killing Maldeem rushed through Sevora’s veins, expanding the sphere around her in a violent shockwave. The sphere blasted out across the hidden city and cast out the zovakem’s vile mist, then retracted into Sevora’s chest with a slamming force that dropped her to her knees. She closed her eyes as dust from the woman’s body flew up around her.

Her head was spinning and she gasped for air. The dust was gone, and in its place she breathed in thick smoke and the tastes of gunpowder and charred soil. Her ears rang, but as she regained her senses a far worse sound vibrated through the air around her.

Cicadas.

She braced on all fours and opened her eyes. She was kneeling in blood and broken soil behind a large iron cannon, surrounded by fallen soldiers in red and black. Some were still gasping their final breaths, torn open by savage gashes or clutching at crude axes and arrows protruding from their bodies. Many wore civilian clothes and looked to be in their late teens. Some were younger.

The zovakem swarm raced past on either side, trampling the fallen and ignoring Sevora as they charged into the Naemreddan army. The screams of the dying and the insect-like calls of the monsters forced Sevora to press up against the cannon and block her ears with her hands.

Then lightning lit up the sky. It was like nothing Sevora had ever seen. Blue streaks raced between the clouds, their fierce light outlining the shapes of a hundred dragons circling the battlefield and the great city beyond, most of it already burning.

She reached for her sword, ignoring the nausea as her awareness sank into the blade. The cicada calls stopped. She looked up, and there before her stood the zovakem prime, shadowy cloak swirling in the night breeze and empty grey eyes staring into hers.

Chapter 80
Moths to a Flame

Seth pressed the lever, letting the lift fall with just enough speed for a steady breeze to ruffle his stolen nightshirt. Steel from the platform’s mesh base chilled his bare feet, and he tried to gauge their distance from the bottom through the clear resin as the trio dropped into shadow. Every few feet, the mountain crevice opened wide enough for them to see the city burning beyond. A flood of black outside the walls marked the invading army while roars from above announced the dragon swarms closing in.

An enormous shape blocked the crevice and the whole mountain shook as a dragon flew by. Alessa stumbled back, knocking Seth off balance so his hand pressed hard on the lever and they shot down. He almost felt his feet leave the platform before he threw his weight against the lever and they came to a jarring halt, toppling together with the girl beside them as sparks lit up the pulleys above.

“Blast it,” muttered Seth, groaning under Alessa’s weight. His head had knocked against one of the lift’s rails as they fell. He rubbed the spot under his hair as Alessa pushed herself off.

“Sorry.” She offered her hand, and he took it after a final groan.

“Y’re been doin’ this before, yeah?” said the girl. “Less fun than a skelva dive, I’m thinkin’.”

“My fault, Yemalla,” said Alessa. “It’s chaos out there.”

“We may be safer here than running out into the thick of a warzone,” said Seth. “And that’s without dragons having shown up.”

“Rhynwhen’s in trouble,” said Alessa, and her eyes flashed green as she spoke.

Seth nodded, brushing off his backside before pressing the lever. The lift jerked an inch, then two, and stopped as more sparks skipped off the pulleys overhead.

“We been stuck?” asked Yemalla.

Seth studied the pulleys and reached up, but his hand fell just an inch short of the lower contraption. He stepped to the rail instead, pushing himself up and balancing off the cliffside before grabbing hold of the pulleys.

“Looks bent,” said Seth, “but I’ve no idea how to fix them.”

The mountain shook once more, a dragon’s roar echoing through the crevice, and Seth fell forward as the lift tilted. His hands closed around the cables while his legs swung forward and knocked Alessa back.

“Watch it!” she snapped. Her eyes were blue this time, and he had to resist smiling. He’d never been quick responding to the ire of women in his life, and now he’d be dealing with two in one, never knowing which he might offend more.

“Sorry,” he said, swinging his feet and pushing himself back onto the rail. “I have an idea, but you’re not going to like it.”

He closed his eyes, letting his awareness pass through his arm and into the silver tree at his wrist. His amber-hilted korossa slid out into his palm, the orange citriol and Selvan magic filling his nerves with a soothing calm as he held up the sword.

“What—”

“Hold tight,” he said, bafflingly excited despite the danger of what he was about to try.

“You can’t be serious,” said Alessa. Yemalla was already gripping the rail for all she was worth.

“It’s this, climb back up the cables, or hope we find a way to fix the lift before a dragon spots us while flying by.”

Alessa already had a hand to the rail, so Seth didn’t wait for an answer. He swept his korossa over the lift’s central bar and severed the cables.

Before they could fall to their deaths, Seth released his draemeir sphere, his awareness drinking in the sensations as iron, rock, resin, and flesh slipped into his domain. His sword flashed silver and vanished into his wrist. Alessa’s awareness brushed against his — she sensed his intention and lent her power to his growing sphere. He almost lost hold as the sphere passed over Yemalla. She had a strain of her own, different from the others he’d felt, and terrifying images flashed through his mind of monsters with bone-plated heads and fearsome green eyes, glaring and mysterious.

He shook himself free of the sight and locked on the cliff walls. His awareness sank into his core as the lift descended through the crevice. The jagged rock walls slid in and out of the sphere, his consciousness flowing past like water and gently guiding the lift to the crevice floor.

Though not yet close enough to enter his sphere, he could see the bottom now, dimly lit by moonlight and raging fires outside. As he looked up, a gust of hot wind washed over him. The flap of a dragon’s wing propelled dust and ash into his eyes. But through his sphere, he could feel the monster’s presence, could sense its eyes lock on the trio and the evil within raging against his consciousness as his sphere glanced off its scales.

“Hold on!” he yelled, but he’d already released the cliff walls from his attention.

The lift plummeted just as a stream of liquid fire slammed into the crevice where they’d been. Burning rock and splashes of flaming oils fell over them, suspended a few feet over their heads by the edge of Seth’s sphere. It took all his focus to keep them from crashing through. The fire’s energy rippled against his consciousness, its intensity draining his power and blurring his vision.

The dragon latched onto the cliffside with its wings and rear legs, sending more rocks crashing down before its long tail whipped out and smashed into the sphere. Seth’s focus broke and he fell forward, the lift gaining terrible speed as he tried to regain his senses. Alessa took up the slack, barely holding the dragon fire over their heads.

At the last second, Seth regained control and stopped the lift an inch from the crevice floor. Yemalla was over the rail and in the city street beyond before he could blink, her movements barely perceptible even to his heightened senses.

“Let’s go!” he yelled, taking the full weight of the fire and rocks above so Alessa could jump out. He vaulted over the rail behind her and let his sphere collapse. The lift clanged and scraped hard behind them as they ran, flaming rocks crushing the iron bars with speed and power as though the spheres had done nothing to slow their fall.

Out in the street, Yemalla waved left between two square homes. The trio charged through the alley before the dragon crashed into the buildings with a roar. Fire and black smoke engulfed the tiled road behind them. Seth tried to keep up, but the strain on his focus left his limbs numb, his movements stiff as though he’d forgotten how to run.

Then he looked up to see his companions replaced by a giant wall of white stone. The old city’s northern limits towered over him. Fires raged to his right and he could just make out the outlines of soldiers locked in battle beyond the smoke. To his left, Alessa and Yemalla were running along the wall back toward the mountain. He ran after them, listening as the dragon toppled buildings, and knew they’d soon be cornered.

He'd seen Valdaris face down a dragon, but after supporting the lift he doubted he could hold his sword, let alone hold off another barrage of liquid fire.

The row of buildings ended ahead at the base of the mountain. A small park graced this forgotten corner of the city, a few small trees and withered hedges set against the city wall and leaving them utterly exposed to any dragons circling back overhead. The trio braced with their backs to the nearest building.

From behind them, Seth felt the dragon’s fragmented will closing in, a draemeir sphere shattered into broken pieces and cast out like a net. The dark presence glanced off his awareness, and the dragon roared in fury.

“It’s found us.”

Alessa met his eyes, then reached for her sword. The black rod shot out, silver etchings flashing orange as the blade appeared in a rush of sparks, then glowed hot red with such intensity that Seth almost moved away.

“Y’re been plannin’ a buster’ with a dragon?” asked Yemalla. She leaned out to look at Seth. “Just be sittin’ tight here, yeah? Y’re not been dyed so don’t be goin’ bustin’ a skelva.”

Seth couldn’t make sense of the girl’s speech. He looked to Alessa, but the agent had gone stiff, back tense against the building and staring up at the city wall. Small chunks of stone fell into the narrow street, black and hissing at their feet. Just as the ground shook from the dragon closing in, the first head broke through.

Holes opened all along the city wall, hissing black as stone dissolved and fell away. Four green eyes stared out from each hole, thin tentacles latching onto the wall around them before the creatures shot out like monstrous spears overhead.

“What are—”

“Find her,” muttered Alessa, cutting him off. “Find her. Have to find her.”

She bolted from her spot, racing into the park and running back along the mountain’s edge. She’d moved in an instant, sprinting with the full speed of her gilden powers before Seth and Yemalla could react.

A larger chunk of black rock bounced off Seth’s shin and he held back a curse. One of the monsters hissed from above, eyes locked on him and fangs bared. Though terrified, he didn’t think the creature meant him harm. He looked to Yemalla for confirmation, assuming from his visions she had some affinity with the monsters, only to realize she’d long since followed after Alessa.

He rose slowly, one palm facing the creature in a placating gesture, the other pushing off the road before balancing on the building to his left. When he looked back up, the creature was gone.

He raced for the empty park and followed the mountain forward, stopping on a whim before a river of liquid fire cut across his path in a blazing inferno. In his haste, he’d forgotten the dragon.

He turned and opened his sphere, bracing for the next attack. The dragon, average-sized but still double the length of a grown man, pushed itself up and prepared to unleash another fiery torrent when one of the strange creatures attacked from the side. Fangs tore into the dragon’s neck and thin tentacles pierced its body from all directions. The dragon roared in rage, shaking its flank and rising up before snatching the creature in its jaws and casting it off. But now the dragon’s rage turned to agony as black liquid dripped from its smoking mouth, dissolving its flesh as the dragon thrashed about. Two more creatures dove from nearby roofs and the dragon collapsed, still fighting hard as blood sprayed from countless wounds.

As Seth turned away, another dragon swept in from behind, destroying the corner building before engulfing the monsters and the first dragon alike in a pool of fire.

Seth had seen enough. The fire before him rose higher than his head, and even brushing his sphere against the flaming oils weakened his awareness so his whole body quivered from the strain. He took a few steps back, looking for a way around but knowing he was running out of time.

His answer came as he looked up at the mountain, one rock wall from the earlier crevice jutting out overhead. He took another step back, linked with the rocks above, and charged. His awareness drank in the coarse granite surface, sparkling orange and yellow from the dragon fire below. He tugged hard on the link with his mind, feeling the rocks crack as his body lifted off the ground and spun into a twist just inches above the tallest flames. Safely on the other side, he threw out his sphere and steadied himself before landing hard on his feet, stone tiles cracking underfoot while his power absorbed the shock.

Alessa and Yemalla were waiting a few feet ahead.

“Done took ye long enough,” said Yemalla.

Seth smiled, rather proud of himself for the feat he’d just pulled. Alessa was smiling too, though the moment was short-lived.

“Trouble ahead,” she said, turning away.

“So we’re not going to talk about those things showing up?” asked Seth.

“I’d rather not,” said Alessa.

“Been fresh dyed and still makin’ heads of it,” said Yemalla, hanging back and nodding toward Alessa as they walked. “Skelva been sensin’ the big buster comin’ here for weeks. Seein’ future they don’t like, makin’ sure it don’t happen like it could.”

Allies while our paths align. Valdaris’s voice echoed through his thoughts. He wanted to reach out, but he sensed the connection already closing. The Cereman no doubt had his hands full with the chaos overwhelming the city.

As the trio continued forward, Seth looked around and wondered if this was anything like the calamity Valdaris came back to prevent. If these ‘skelva’ could see the future too, there must have been some truth to the foreboding pulling on Seth’s chest. The screams and roars and gunshots pounded his ears. Every muscle in his body tensed, not unlike how he’d felt when his whole world collapsed after Sevora slashed his throat, then again when her mother revoked his rank and right to kossa. Fighting back against an even greater threat was the only thing keeping his head on straight.

Alessa held up her hand. The street dropped ahead at the mouth of a giant tunnel leading deep into the mountain. There, in the middle of the road, stood Morraedd, surrounded by a host of soldiers in shining armor and watching as four men pulled on large iron chains set in the ground. As they pulled, two larger tiles in the road shifted up, then pushed out to the sides. What looked like a Selvan obelisk slowly rose from the gap, a glowing spire barely taller than a man and covered in webs of dark metal.

Morraedd approached, his scarlet robes trailing behind, and the obelisk grew brighter. The substance beneath the metal webs looked creamy white and swirling gold, interrupted by a blue aurora as Morraedd drew closer. Seth realized with a start that the entire obelisk was built from Palladon pearls, somehow fused into a perfect whole.

Morraedd waved his hand. The dark metal began to glow, first red from the obelisk’s base, then orange as the light climbed up, and soon the dark webs were burning bright yellow like metal in a furnace. Swirling tendrils of turquoise fire branched out from the metal, and Morraedd stepped back. The flames began spinning around the obelisk, slow at first, then building to a raging inferno of blues and greens that eclipsed the obelisk and lit up the street.

Morraedd waved his hand again, and the flames shot into the sky, a fiery spear of turquoise light that pierced the clouds and spun with such intensity that the air itself seemed to collect at its peak and thicken into dark stormclouds, ominous and blocking the moon’s waning glow beyond.

What Seth felt next was malevolence beyond anything he’d ever experienced. His heart pounded in his chest. Yemalla shuddered, and Alessa put a hand to her forehead. The air grew dense, thick with purest hatred. Every time he blinked, Seth saw outlines of wolves, their bodies floating around the fiery pillar, black mist and sinister red eyes flickering in and out of his vision as he watched. The evil was drawn to the obelisk’s power like moths to a flame.

The dragon swarm roared in unison, then dove for the obelisk. Dozens of monsters closed in and blocked out the sky. Some opened their mouths, orange light flashing from their jaws, while others seemed to sense the trap, extending their wings and drawing back, but it was too late.

Below, Morraedd’s long korossa appeared in his hand, held up over his head and pointing to the clouds.

“Luh’davar!”

The city shook beneath their feet and the hair rose off Seth’s arms and head. Alessa tried in vain to keep her own hair down. Above, the sky cracked open with thousands of blue sparks, bolts of lightning that flashed across the stormclouds, striking the dragon swarm and casting the bodies down in smoking heaps of burnt flesh.

Morraedd’s voice echoed over the city, booming and ominous beyond compare. But beneath the high lord’s call, Seth could hear the voice of a child, each word strained and tight as though spoken in distress.

“Luh’davar!”

Morraedd called out again, another flash of lightning stretching over the city. Bolts shot down and cast the few surviving dragons from the sky. Others struck Selvandrea’s gold-tipped towers, plates of burning metal crashing to the streets below. A second wave of bolts streaked down beyond the walls, small blasts of dirt and fire marking where Morraedd’s power lashed out at the Naemreddan army’s swarming host. And above it all, Rhynwhen’s voice rang out, terror in each echo struggling against the dark will of the lord whose power she now served.

Alessa looked to Seth, eyes green and severe, then turned back and charged.

And just as Seth prepared to follow, Valdaris appeared before the obelisk below. He lunged forward, crystal longsword in hand, and plunged the blade deep into the obelisk. The fiery spear vanished and the obelisk exploded into dozens of fractured pieces. The soldiers scattered, but Morraedd stood in place, pieces of metal and pearl glancing off an invisible barrier as he glared at the Cereman. He leveled his korossa and Valdaris looked down.

The serpentine hilt in his hand ended with a crystal stub. The blade had shattered to pieces.

Chapter 81
The Kanarian’s Armor

Elzar braced against the barricade, his shield glowing with a green aurora against the dark iron staves. Wooden desks, cabinets, and tables propped against the other side burst into splinters as a fresh volley tore through. Several bullets skipped off Elzar’s shield while gunners to his left and right fell dead. Two musketeers fired back over his shoulders, while a few others shot into the Naemreddan horde from windows above. A mortar fired from one of the roofs and ripped into the enemy’s ranks with burning shrapnel.

These mortars, a gift of Selvan ingenuity, were their only remaining advantage. The forward cannons had long since toppled or lost their gunners, and the narrow grid of streets in the New City did little to slow the flood of Naemreddans once they blasted through the walls. Elzar had forced his way to the front once he got his bearings, eager to repay Zavos’s loss a thousand times over. So far he’d been able to do little more than lend his shield’s magic to the barricade’s limited protection, while gunners and musketeers kept the enemy from closing in.

Most of the soldiers had abandoned the streets, taking shelter in the buildings for fear of the dragons. The swarms seemed to focus their destructive rage on the city’s core, drawn to whatever strange magic Morraedd had unleashed. Elzar had no doubt the high lord was responsible — he’d heard a cry from Rhynwhen in his mind, a plea for help he couldn’t answer, and then her voice had given way to that of the high lord before streaks of blue lightning lit up the sky. Even as dragons’ corpses fell from above, the Naemreddans doubled their efforts as though thrown into a frenzy by Morraedd’s power.

A crazed Naemreddan, a boy in his late teens by his look, climbed up a fallen cabinet before taking a musket ball to the forehead. A soldier replaced him, leaping down and swiping out with a saber. The blade glanced off Elzar’s shield as he drove his sword through the man’s gut, then threw him off behind him. Turning back, he spotted an arc of green gas passing overhead. He raised his blade in time to catch its fiery tail, light from the racing fire passing into his veins while the Naemreddan’s blood dripped down his arm and across his face.

He began wiping blood from his eyes when a blast shook the road, not from a mortar but from a building collapsing. Selvans’ dying screams filled the air and soldiers from a side alley ran into the street ahead, several shrouded in flames. Those spared the fires fled one foe and dove into battle with another. They pushed their way back to the barricade, serpent blades and shining vocalir shields holding back the crude Naemreddan arsenal, but they’d soon be overwhelmed.

Elzar fought down his welling rage. Naemreddans cut down a Selvan from behind, the mob trampling him underfoot as the other Selvans carved a path through the enemy with desperate strikes. Elzar braced, then charged for the barricade and prepared to leap when a wall of dust and air threw him back. Buildings on either side collapsed and filled the street with rubble.

It took him a moment to push himself up and shake the dust from his face and armor. Soldiers rose with groans and cleared bricks off their comrades, noticing too late the ruined barricade. Elzar tried to call out, but his voice caught on the dust. Naemreddan muskets fired a volley into the stumbling survivors, their bodies shuddering amidst red spray before falling in heaps, until only Elzar and the musketeers behind him remained in the street.

And standing ahead between the row of enemy musketeers was the Athamein monk. He held his dark gladius to the side, blocking the Naemreddans from advancing, and stretched out his free hand, palm raised.

An orb of rippling light appeared over the monk’s hand, silver and white that shimmered like a mirage. Elzar planted his feet and readied himself for the attack. Almost too late, he felt the power inside him well up, reaching out with strands of green light that caught on a musket’s bayonet just as it was about to pierce his side. He twisted into a panicked roll, barely deflecting the blade with his sword before catching a shot from the second musketeer on his shield.

Possession.

He was about to lunge for the first musketeer when Zavos appeared between them. Elzar stared in shock, but he knew his friend was gone. The mirage rippled and flaming shrapnel tore into Elzar’s gut. He rolled back before he even knew he’d been hit, smoke and debris rising in the street where a stray mortar shell ripped through the musketeers. Zavos vanished.

The Athamein monk planted his feet by Elzar’s head, and power pinned his arms to the road. He fought back the pain in his stomach long enough to fix the monk with a resolved glare as the dark gladius stabbed through the hole in his armor.

Light. All was light. Bright white, greens, blues, and gold.

Elzar never felt the blade, and the pain was gone. He hovered over the empty shell of his armor, watching as the monk kicked at the bright steel in wonder. Smoke rose through the hole where shrapnel had cut through, but his body was gone. The Naemreddan army charged past, passing through his shimmering form without care or notice.

He wasn’t dead — he knew that much. And he’d never felt freer. His awareness was somehow lightened, unburdened from all his hidden fears and his responsibility to his home and family, even as their great capital burned around him. Soothing light washed over him, his presence ethereal and barely visible to his own senses.

Currents of unseen power caught him in the air and pushed him back over the crumbling city. The New City was utterly lost. From his ghostly vantage, he watched Selvans fall in failed skirmishes as the enemy army filled the streets. An Athamein monk marched at the head of each charge and toppled buildings with blasts of power before mortars and cannons above could slow them further. Selvan artillery continued firing from the old city walls, but the Naemreddans flooded past the destruction, oblivious to the hundreds dying around them. A haze of smoke and chaos rose over the ruined city, but Elzar heard nothing, protected by a quiet stillness held fast in the shimmering light.

As the current pulled him farther back, the great iron gates of old Selvandrea passed through him from behind, jolting him from his floating reverie. The heavy metal pressed on his awareness before he slipped back into freedom on the other side, only to watch the gate shatter. Black mist rose from the edges of iron shrapnel and sliced through ranks of Selvans bracing behind the gate. He floated away, unable to help.

Then came a rush of power and light, chilling energy overwhelming his senses as he basked in the experience. Bright flames rose from a pool at his feet, a river of liquid fire streaming out from the twitching body of a dragon to his right. Rays of light shot through his ethereal form, his rippling limbs drawing in the light until his own radiance was blinding. The flames vanished, the oils left behind collecting at his feet and slowly crawling up his legs. And as he watched, the dragon began to dissolve, its flesh scattering in heaps of dust while its bones glistened beneath. They were golden, almost metallic even, interrupted by slivers of a crystal-like substance rippling in every imaginable color.

Elzar had stood over many a felled dragon, but never one like this. Their bones had always been black as onyx, dissolving into ash before their people could study the monsters, but this dragon hid beauty and power within. He wasn’t sure what to make of it.

A final rush of power interrupted his thoughts, and his feet touched solid ground. The oils had reached up to his shoulders and burst into flames. He felt no heat — the fire was cool to his senses, yet unimaginably bright, and scorched the stone tiles below. Weight pulled on his arms, and his crystal sword and shield filled his grip.

It took him a moment to notice Selvans staring nearby. They could see him. He looked down in wonder, bare and baffled, clothed only in a suit of writhing flames. He tested his toes against the road, still unsure if this was real and disoriented by returning senses, his body once more his own.

One soldier held up his sword, then lowered it as Elzar stepped forward. He withdrew his confused emotions into his core, steeling himself with a renewed sense of purpose, and charged.

The Selvans cleared his path, most turning just in time to make way as the fiery apparition ran through their ranks. They mumbled and gasped in awe as he passed. He couldn’t blame them, but his attention was locked on the broken gate. Standing under the smoking archway, the Athamein monk braced with his gladius, eyes cold and ready for the fight ahead.

A warning flashed through Elzar’s mind but came too late.

Rippling power threw him into a nearby building. Stone walls and an entire upper floor crumbled over him, pressing hard on his chest and stealing his breath. His fiery armor sent up a cloud of smoke around him. The shock left him stunned, numb and dazed worse than after the blast in Mobrid that nearly took his life. He’d felt invincible, so sure of victory, yet the monk had bested him again without lifting a hand. A single, angry tear fell from his eye.

“Find peace in the shadows, my brother.” The Athamein monk stood over him, sword raised yet his features drawn back in pity and compassion.

A burst of blood interrupted the killing strike. Red spray hissed against the flames as the monk stumbled and turned. What looked like a shard of purple crystal stuck out from his back. Another pierced his gut as he tried to turn.

“Hello, Addelar.”

Elzar could barely make out dark leather boots and the frayed edges of a stained cloak standing opposite the monk. The crystal spikes shattered against the stone with sharp pings as the monk faced his attacker.

“Podarrek Vistandel. It isn’t too late, you know. The Atta wants you back. Just look at all we’ve achieved under his guidance in so short a time.”

The Daruman stepped to the side, drawing his longsword and staring down the monk.

“Never again,” said Podarrek. “You’ll die for what you did to Marrgolen. And I’m coming for Tarvor next.”

“You don’t understand. You never—”

A tendril of dark mist shot out from Podarrek’s cloak. Elzar’s heightened senses let him watch the spike condense into purple and black crystal before stabbing into the monk.

Addelar fell to his knees. He looked to Elzar, eyes wide with shock and fear, the face of a fanatic bereft of his illusions. His gladius fell from his hand, dark metal turning from black to grey as it clattered by his side. And with a final step forward, the Daruman plunged his longsword into the monk and twisted the blade, the sword’s pommel flashing black and purple as the monk stiffened, then scattered into dust.

Elzar sighed with relief, the burden of vengeance lifting from his shoulders, even as the weight above him stole his remaining air and his mind slipped into shadow.

Chapter 82
The Dark Skelva

Alessa crashed into the wall of soldiers. The glowing blade in her hand cut through their armor with ease, the lack of resistance jarring as she stumbled forward.

Talrinn.

She heard the name, again and again. Rage clouded her senses, the gilden strain willing her limbs into a grim dance as the object of her vengeance drew closer. Morraedd glanced her way as she cut down two more of his men. His features were hard as rock, arrogance chiseled into his very soul, yet his eyes were sad. Resolved, yet burdened with regret. She knew he recognized his daughter’s presence inside her, yet he turned away without a word. Even in death he ignored her. His sword glowed an eerie turquoise, raised as he prepared to engage Valdaris.

A serpent blade missed Alessa’s face by a foot, the bright metal splitting as it struck her basilica sword and cut into the stone by her foot. She pivoted and stabbed the soldier through his raised shield. The thick steel sparked in blues and greens like basilica armor and melted in fiery globs where the sword cut through.

Have to find her.

Elaryn’s jumbled voice echoed in her mind. And another voice, feral and layered as though composed of many speakers at once, fought for her attention. Though the sickness had passed, she could feel the skelva burrowing into her soul, vying for dominance over the gilden strain and those tied to it — Valdaris, Elaryn... even Seth. The competing emotions, intuitions, ambitions, and thoughts made focus impossible, her one defining feature buried in an avalanche of tangled wills.

One step forward... one at a time.

It seemed Elaryn knew a thing or two about focus as well. Alessa pulled her sword free from the soldier as the others turned. She ignored them — most took a step back from her glowing weapon after seeing its work. Her attention was fixed on Morraedd and this one chance to end his tyranny.

She leapt forward, crossing the distance in a single bound, and sliced through his chest and arm as he tried to pivot away. There’d been even less resistance than when she struck the soldier’s shield, and when she turned back, Morraedd was gone.

The feral voices in her mind broke into a frenzy, panicked and possessed by untamed fury. A dozen skelva crashed into the street. Their tentacles tore through the Selvans and cast them aside with ruthless disdain. The creatures swarmed around the spot where Morraedd had been, pushing past Alessa like she was a simple obstacle unworthy of their violence. Collective rage gave way to wild shrieks as they lifted their heads, then shot off away from the mountain.

Valdaris stepped closer, and Seth approached from up the street with Yemalla by his side.

“So much I didn’t see,” said Valdaris. He lifted his hand, and crystal shards rose off the street, several pulling away from soldiers’ bodies where they’d cut through.

His sword, thought Alessa.

“Yemalla, why are they here?” asked Valdaris.

“The biggun’s had i’s eye on them Selvans’ city f’r moons and moons,” said Yemalla. An impression passed through Alessa’s mind like a shattered mural, tiny pieces pulled together into a fractured, terrifying image — the monster she’d been taught to fear since before she could speak.

“The Karziv’hakaz,” said Alessa.

Valdaris studied her, then looked to the crystal shards as they met above the broken edge of his sword. Strands of golden light climbed out from the hilt and began melding with the shards.

“So they fear its awakening as well,” said Valdaris. “Even so, we’d know if it was stirring. It’s the zovakem I’m worried about. This entire scheme of Morraedd’s has been a feint to draw out the Pallados prime — I think he may have been the one to seal it there in the first place. I’d thought the seals trapping the primes were placed by the Chazendur, but this creature had its sights set on Morraedd from the start, and he on it. The bastard said he didn’t know where...”

Have to find her.

Elaryn’s voice came back sharper than before, and Valdaris’s eyes flashed bright blue as he looked over Alessa’s shoulder. Alessa turned toward the tunnel and watched as a wall of rippling blue light vanished, replaced in an instant by thick shadow and tendrils of dark mist.

“It has her,” said Valdaris. He reached into his cloak and pulled two golden orbs from a silk bag on his belt. “Alessa, Seth, take these. I’m counting on you to save her. I have to face the prime and stop Morraedd before his schemes kill us all.”

Alessa could feel the power brimming from the orbs even before she cautiously held out her hand. The cool metal met her palm with a cascade of energy, focus, and rushing clarity beyond anything she’d experienced. She gasped while the power surged through her nerves and chilled her to the core. Her basilica sword glowed bright yellow and she retracted the blade before its blaze could ignite the air.

Seth gasped beside her.

When she looked back to Valdaris, he was gone. She turned to Seth, but he just shrugged, then braced and let his korossa fill his free hand in a flash of silver light.

“I’ll been stayin’ put, if y’re plannin’ a buster in those caves,” said Yemalla. “A good place, before them Selvans showed up. And I’ll not been standin’ a chance against bustin’ shadows.”

“It’s fine,” said Alessa. “You can watch our backs. Don’t let anyone else through, and run if the shadows get any closer.”

She stepped forward with Seth by her side, while Yemalla walked over to the tunnel wall and leaned back, tossing a jagged knife up and down like a bored child waiting on her parents. Though they shared a link to the skelva, Alessa sensed an independence and freedom in the girl she’d never imagined in a draemeir host. So much of this world was beyond her understanding, beyond what Ambrove had ever believed possible.

“I think I can get us closer,” said Seth. He chuckled quietly, shaking his head. “Never thought I’d be rushing in to rescue a Selvan heiress.”

“So why come?” asked Alessa. “Because he asked you?”

“Because it’s what she would have wanted.”

With that, Seth opened his sphere. His awareness enveloped them both, passing sadness flowing between them before the air broke into fissures and sucked them through.

They emerged with a rush of air into total darkness. Seth’s orb burst into rays of golden light, and Alessa took a step back, horrified. All around them, wisps of dark mist swirled above fleeing Selvans, their screams silenced by the shadows as they were consumed alive. A man knelt before two giant obelisks, a woman lying still in his arms, before dark tendrils shot off the ground like striking snakes and coiled around their bodies. The shadows moved on, and the man and woman were gone without a trace.

“Do ya mind shining that fancy light somewhere else?” came a voice behind them. “Some of us were doing a right good job hiding before you decided to brighten the place up, what good it’ll do ya.”

Alessa turned and stepped back, caught off guard by two old men standing a foot away. The closer man glared at Seth while the other on his right watched the scene of death around them with a sad, resigned expression.

“You’ll have to forgive good Jedda here,” said the man on the right. “This is a far cry from how we expected this holiday of ours to end.”

Seth held out the glowing orb despite the first man’s protests.

“I recognize you.”

“Ah yes, the Siivalan upstart,” said the man called Jedda. “Not as dim as ya look, eh?”

“How are you here?” asked Seth. “How are you alive?”

“The dark can’t take what it can’t see, sonny,” said the other man.

“And never you mind how or why or when we got here, you distractible whipper,” said Jedda. “That poor child ahead won’t be saving herself, now will she?”

Seth stared, jaw open.

Alessa looked back beyond the obelisks, and chilling energy rushed into her eyes. Her vision flew out over the cavern, racing past the fleeing Selvans and fixing on a sphere of utter darkness floating over a glimmering lake. She could just barely discern the shape of a child, hovering between bursts of purple and black fire.

As she watched, her sensors activated of their own accord, and flashing warnings shot down her right eye. Radiation. The water below the child erupted in walls of spray before she could react. To her horror, a skelva larger than any she’d seen shot out of the lake. Its bone plates were onyx black, not tan, and its tentacles were dark red instead of grey — they sliced through the shadows and wrapped around the girl, drinking in the darkness as the monster twirled and dove back into the lake. The child was gone.

Alessa’s focus returned to her surroundings, and Elaryn’s presence inside her shook with silent screams. Her arms were trembling. Tears fell from both eyes. The stains on her face and neck burned, a feral cry filling her mind as the skelva shrieked across the city in collective rage.

Not ours... not us.

Hundreds of young voices overlapped, Yemalla’s loudest among them. Fury and fear tore through Alessa’s mind.

A gentle hand closed over her shoulder.

“There’s nothing for it, dearie,” said the man. “But don’t you worry. That little girl has more to her than any monster can hope to match. Good Jedda and I will make sure she’s safe and sound, never you fear.”

“I don’t understand,” said Alessa. She looked back over the hidden city, watching Selvans emerge from stone buildings as the shadows dispersed. Seth stepped forward, sword flashing with blue fire, but they both knew it was too late.

They turned to the men, only to see them walking back through the tunnel.

“Hey!” called Alessa. Seth’s korossa vanished, and he put a hand on her arm.

“Wait,” he said, turning back to the cavern ahead. “He knows. He says Mella was in here too and won’t live without our help. Rhynwhen is beyond our aid, but we can still do some good here.”

“I can’t... we can’t leave her.”

“We won’t,” said Seth, his face bearing a look of cold resolve. “One step at a time.”

Alessa sighed, nodding, and followed after the captain with numb steps, deeper into the city. Light from the obelisks washed over them, chilling and ominous, but she felt nothing past the wall of grief and confusion enclosing her mind.

Failed... faster. Should have been faster.

She couldn’t tell if the thought was Elaryn’s or her own.

Past the next obelisk, Seth sped to a quick trot before kneeling by the lake. Melladar’s body lay beside him, obscured by shadow and short bursts of black fire.

Seth will help. Valdaris spoke through a wavering connection, his voice muffled and distant. Trace.

The obelisks’ power rippled over her skin and cut the impression short, but she took his meaning. She was the only one with the means to track this new threat, and she had her own questions, sharp focus locked on this new problem to solve.

She reactivated her cybernetics and radiation warnings returned in abundance. Her display flashed with red and black dots all across the lake’s surface. The signature grew even stronger as she locked in on a chasm deep below the lake leading under the cavern walls. The monster was long gone.

She’d only encountered radiation once in her time on this world, back when she arrived with the basilicas through the Gildramor’s vortex. Sure enough, the radiation ahead was a match, fading but its origin unmistakable.

The ship.

“What ship?” she asked aloud. He didn’t answer.

“What’s that?” asked Seth. He stood over Melladar, one palm facing her body and the other held out at his side, the golden metal glowing a soft orange.

“Nothing,” said Alessa.

As she watched, gold strands like shimmering threads reached out from the orb. Some flickered and vanished, but others reached down, slowly settling into Melladar’s skin and clothes. The shadow withdrew where the light touched, resisting with renewed bursts of fire before giving way. The threads multiplied until they spread over Melladar in a sheet of gold, then molded to her form and vanished.

Her breathing came slow at first, and Seth still held out his palm as though unsure whether he needed to do more. But after a pause, Mella opened her eyes. She sat up, looking them over before grabbing her korossa from the cavern floor and turning toward the lake.

“Where... where is she?”

Alessa struggled to answer, and she never got the chance. A quake shook the entire cave, and flashing blue light eclipsed their view with power beyond reckoning.

Chapter 83
Fate of a Species

Valdaris Drascar stood over the burning rubble. Elzar lay unconscious within, and there he’d remain — safe. Though the greatest of those to come, he’d been far too reckless these past hours against far lesser foes than those Drascar was about to face. Too many distractions vied for Drascar’s attention in this critical hour, and just one less could mean the difference between survival and ruin.

He held out his fractured sword, and oils from the nearby dragon crawled over cracked stone to rest over Elzar’s body. The flames vanished, replaced by golden light and bursts of red from the ruby pommel. The rubble turned to glass, obscuring the Kanarian soldier and his crystal weapons within, to be retrieved when this was over.

“He’s lucky to be alive.”

Drascar turned, surprised the Daruman prince had lingered after taking his revenge.

“It knows you’re coming,” said Podarrek.

“So help me,” said Drascar.

Podarrek cocked his head. The request seemed to surprise him.

“I’m not one for joining lost causes,” said the prince. “But I’m my own man. I’d sooner die than let these strains control me. We’re both better off with me leaving.”

Drascar motioned to the robes and ash by their feet.

“I suppose you’ll be heading for Tarvor next.”

“What of it?” asked Podarrek, eyes flashing with rage as his hand gripped tight around his hilt.

Drascar smiled.

“Nothing. We’re not so different.”

Podarrek huffed, then turned without a word and set off for the southern gates. Drascar waited until he was far beyond view. The shadowy haze over his mind made sensing intentions difficult, but the prince was an anomaly he’d ponder another time.

Drascar held up his sword. The cracks gleamed with bright magic up and down its length, but it wouldn’t hold. In the face of so many false futures, a veil of darkness even the ruby couldn’t pierce, he needed power. A weapon ready to shatter at the first strike from his enemy wouldn’t do.

And after Morraedd’s asinine ploy, there was little he could do that would draw the draemeir’s attention more than the high lord already had. Even seconds longer of that fiery beacon would have awakened the ultimate evil, just as Morraedd had done the last time by different means. It seemed history was doomed to repeat, and the sacrifice of an entire future had almost been for naught. The prospect of failing a second time filled Drascar with an unquenchable rage.

His rage doubled as he approached the dragon bones ahead. With only two dragons taken thus far by the gilden strain, he’d been unsure how quickly the infection would spread. Morraedd, in his haste and arrogance, had killed many a dragon well on their way to freedom from the draemeir’s hold, the evil’s greatest weapons besides Drascar himself turned against their maker. His kin, tools of carnage turned to a higher purpose, now lay in scattered heaps across the city — a city ruined by one man’s pride.

He loosened the tiger’s eye pouch at his side and let three golden orbs rise out, then float over to the bones ahead while he stretched out his hand. The magic faded from his sword, and crystal shards pinged across the tiles at his feet. The serpentine head of his crossguard opened, expelling the remaining stub without ceremony as Drascar seethed within.

The orbs worked quickly, beckoned by the ruby while Drascar focused on the dragon’s crystalline marrow. Each bone touched by the orbs shrank before being absorbed into the Chazendur metal, revealing the treasure hidden inside. The suspended liquid trickled out toward Drascar’s hilt, thin streams glimmering with every color of the rainbow. The liquid settled into the shape of a blade, and the orbs returned from their work to slowly orbit the shimmering weapon.

Drascar’s vision blurred. His mind grew dizzy as the dark will lingering over the city tried to impede his work. But the ruby’s will would not be so easily swayed. His last defense against the shadow, a dragon’s soul like no other preserved and linked to his own, cast its intentions into the golden orbs and carefully reforged the crystalline blade from their brethren’s marrow. Strands of magic settled into the blade until it seemed ablaze with golden fire, and with a final swell of power the serpent hilt opened its jaws and fixed itself upon the weapon’s base.

The orbs returned to Drascar’s side, and he held up his new sword. Clearest crystal sang through the night air, gleaming with refracted rainbows of color. Beautiful beyond compare, yet a far cry from the power he’d once carried. It would have to do.

Ready for the battles ahead, he set off for the city gate.

He’d barely turned when he felt the darkness in the mountain recede. Morraedd’s obelisks blocked him from gaining a clear view, even with two of his Chazurii inside, but Alessa’s readings confirmed his worst fears.

The great unanswered question of his journey back through time had finally come to a head. The sword’s arrival had been almost immediately followed by an unknown ship, hostile to the dragon swarms yet foreign to any memory of this world or the future from which Drascar escaped. He’d hoped its explosion, powerful enough to level mountains, had erased any trace of its masters — who or whatever they were. Clearly, he’d hoped in vain.

Before his last stand against the Karziv’hakaz, he’d wrestled with the implications of what he was about to attempt. He’d feared above all else that another would discover the Chazendur’s secret before him, traveling back and undoing his reality before he could make his stand.

But the erasure of an entire universe was bound to leave a trace. There had to be some fleeting warning of the impending doom as time folded upon the future. He’d created vast sensors on hidden worlds in an attempt to sense such a collapse, though he’d never found the means to respond in time. Instead, he’d accelerated his plans and leapt into the unknown.

The ship he’d encountered and Alessa’s readings in the cave were proof another had succeeded where he could not. Some distant civilization had found the means to sense their world’s collapse. The ship came as a desperate bid to save their future, however hopeless. Or, more likely, it carried survivors and knowledge sufficient to begin anew and preserve some small vestige of a people now lost in the folds of time.

He'd never considered the skelva, not humans, would be the ones to travel back. Though ruthless and calculating, in his own time their kind had been wiped out in the Fall. The simple act of sending back his sword had changed the fate of an entire species.

And in his ignorance, he’d led them to the most powerful draemeir host ever encountered.

He feared for the child. But like ruptures through time or the Karziv’hakaz awakening, he did not believe Rhynwhen’s passing would come without warning. He’d face the more immediate threat to their world, then fix the full force of his attention and rage on her captor.

Ready to set off once more, he let his awareness hover over the city. The skelva had pushed back much of the enemy host, killing Selvans and Naemreddans alike before fleeing north. The Naemreddans regrouped in the New City, cut off from the bulk of their army and surrounded by Selvan musketeers and armored soldiers pressing their advantage. And just outside the gate to Drascar’s right, he spotted an Athamein monk shaking dust from his robes.

Drascar smiled. The fool had been wise enough to hide from the skelva, but he wouldn’t escape his fate.

Drascar approached the gate, crystal sword in hand. He waited for the monk to spot him before releasing tendrils of golden flame from the serpentine hilt that crawled up the blade and turned it a vibrant, fiery orange. The monk saw it and ran.

But Drascar was faster. He slipped through fissured space and caught the monk across the hip, speeding away into an alley before the monk ever saw him. Clutching his side and limping, the monk stumbled forward, sighing as half a dozen Naemreddan soldiers ran into the street.

Even with Drascar’s future sight impaired by the zovakem, the Naemreddans never stood a chance. He leapt from a roof to their left, cleaving one down the middle and thrusting his blade into another’s gut before they could react. His dagger found a third man’s throat before he ripped his sword free and brought the blade down on an enemy saber, hard enough to shatter the blade and fill the man’s face with shrapnel.

A fleeting memory surfaced, taunting his mind with thoughts of the captain’s saber he’d once carried — a reminder of the people he’d lost and just how long he’d been fighting this war alone.

No longer. This time would be different.

He put the screaming Naemreddan out of his misery with a clean swipe. Cruelty had never been his aim. Only a few in this war had ever merited his hatred. Few draemeir hosts could be saved, but he refused to revel in suffering as did his makers. Like the Daruman prince, he was his own man.

His thought cut short as a bullet raced past his ear. The other remaining Naemreddan pulled out a pistol and fired as they fled after the monk — Drascar caught the ball on the flat of his blade, barely moving his wrist.

Enough. He reached out, breaking through the monk’s feeble sphere and linking with his body. Sickening nausea filled his throat as the draemeir within raged against his will. He pulled hard, and the monk flew back to be impaled on his sword. Flames rushed into the wound, power from the gilden strain rushing through the dying man’s nerves and filling Drascar’s mind with visions of darkness.

He saw the city burning and Morraedd bowing in chains. He saw ditches filled with bodies, men, women, and children alike, as the Athamein rid the world of competing strains. He heard their vile promises, upholding their cruel traditions and protecting the collective will in exchange for power in this life and eternity in the next. He saw the mobs of their growing empire thrown into a murderous frenzy by the allure of prosperity, security, and unearned grandeur.

And beneath it all, he saw the face of the man who’d cast him to the wyrms.

You. Shock and fear gave way to cruel fascination as Bendan Tarvor appraised his enemy from afar. At last, the emperor knew what he had unleashed upon the world.

The connection broke, and brown robes split over Drascar’s blade. The body collapsed in a pile of ash. He reached out and summoned his dagger with his free hand, watching the two remaining Naemreddans flee with cold indifference. He had what he needed. The dying screams of Naemreddans echoed in his mind from outside the city, where the zovakem waited for his arrival.

The air split before him, and he leapt once more into the unknown.

Chapter 84
To the Sharks

Smoke and whimpers rose from the battlefield. The dead and dying lay across Drascar’s path, mindless carnage left in the aftermath of two men’s misguided ambition. One sought to control the draemeir, the other sought to align with them. And both had played into evil’s hands, feeding their people to the draemeir’s endless hunger for chaos, death, and despair.

As ever, Drascar fought from the shadows in vain while the world crumbled around him.

At least here, today, he had one final chance to stop the approaching calamities. He wasn’t sure he could bear to watch the Fall a second time. Yet life always seemed to root out his worst fears and throw them his way with predictable frequency.

For all his power, he was tired, worn down by millennia fighting a war he didn’t know how to win.

Shadows thickened around him, and he noticed a tinge of darkness staining his crystal blade.

Of course.

He shook off the shadow’s influence. In linking to Tarvor’s strain through the monk, he’d opened himself to the draemeir’s poisoned thoughts, malevolent will probing his fears and preying on his doubts.

He had more hope now than he’d ever had, and he drew strength from all those counting on him to succeed. Rhynwhen. Elzar. Melladar. Seddram. Alessa. Yemalla. Elaryn. Even Sevora. Flaming tendrils crawled up the length of his sword and lit his path. Dark mist parted before him as sapphire light from his eyes pierced the vile shroud.

Ahead, the zovakem horde turned his way.

Welcome, brother. The prime’s voice scratched at his mind, and a single drop of blood fell from his right ear. The creature stepped out from between its minions, claws out to either side and fangs bared in a malicious grin.

But behind its facade of strength, he sensed fear. Savage and dangerous, but also desperate, weak, and uncertain. Its grey eyes were empty, but its muscles tensed as the dark blues and purples of its face pulled back in a snarl.

Three jets of dark mist shot out from its side. Drascar raised his sword and the ruby unleashed a tendril of golden fire to catch each spike, blackest crystal within shattering against the flames.

A dozen more spikes shot out, and a new threat closed in from the sides. Drascar rolled, raising his sword to catch stray jets of mist while fiery red eyes loomed over him to the right.

Remember the wolf.

The prime’s voice taunted him as purest malevolence launched forward with open jaws, but he was ready. The ruby erupted in a blaze of scarlet light, and from the sword’s edge a fierce dragon wreathed in flames climbed into the night sky. The Dresca of another age fought once more, unleashing a booming roar as the wolves scattered, then circled back and attacked as one.

Their illusions locked in battle above, Drascar and the prime braced in unison, then charged.

Drascar’s mind filled with visions of the fight to come. It took every ounce of the ruby’s remaining power to sift through the visions, filtering out false futures fed to him by the enemy hive. The process dizzied his mind, but he locked on the surest path forward and reached out with his sphere. He swept for the creature’s head between strides, and a claw ripped through his side.

He looked down. The creature followed through with a feral slash at his face he barely dodged, then caught him across the arm as he tried to deflect a blow that never came. Blood spilled from his side and trickled down his arm — the gilden strain pushed out the creature’s poison and sealed the wounds, but the shock stalled his mind. It felt an age since he’d bled.

He couldn’t trust himself. Even the Karziv’hakaz hadn’t possessed such power, such total control over light itself that futures bent to the creature’s will. He began to wonder how Morraedd had ever sealed the monster away, but the next attack cut short his will to understand.

Drascar fell back into simple forms and parries, relying on heightened senses and speed where visions had failed. The creature still pushed him back. And he realized too late the monster’s intent — each step took him closer to the zovakem horde. With the ruby’s fiery illusion still holding back a sea of draemeir mist and wolves, he was on his own.

Never alone.

Thunder cracked above and the creature snarled at the sky in rage. Drascar wanted to scream, all gratitude eclipsed by panic as two great dragons swept down over the enemy horde. Find the girl. He sent the command, but he knew neither dragon would obey while he faced such peril.

Walls of fire erupted behind him and he steeled his resolve, slashing out and catching the distracted prime across the wrist. He deflected a feral swing, cut across the creature’s other arm, then unleashed an undercut that cut deep into the creature’s chest. The prime stumbled back, its look of shock mirroring Drascar’s from moments before, as it studied the new wound running parallel to a swollen scar left by a weapon much like his own.

The prince, thought Drascar.

The creature’s shadowy cloak pulled across its chest, then burst out, throwing Drascar on his back. When he opened his eyes, it was gone.

Dresca, Orizan, go, now!

Darkness was thick over the horde, a spreading cloud of disease and evil, and he couldn’t tell if either dragon heard or obeyed. He rose just as a crude axe cut through the dirt where he’d been, turning in time to dodge an arrow passing over his shoulder.

A dozen monsters closed in.

Their prime had been a match for him, and he wouldn’t take chances so close to the end. But as the monsters entered his open sphere, he could have laughed. A thousand of these failed creations would have fallen just as easily. He danced between them, his flaming sword charring flesh and severing limbs with ease as their claws and weapons passed through his sphere without ever hitting their mark. More came, stepping over thrashing bodies, their clawed feet sinking into dirt soiled with the purple blood of their brethren.

He raised his sword to deflect an axe when something cut deep into his shoulder. The axe met his blade and knocked it from his hand. He fell to his knees, vision blurred and pain locking his other arm in place.

Time stopped. He threw every last shred of focus into his sphere, the incoming zovakem all but frozen in place as he reached for his shoulder. His hand closed around a blade he couldn’t sense, its presence masked from his awareness by power he’d only seen once. He gasped as he pulled the weapon free, fire in his shoulder bringing tears to his eyes. And for all his power, the wound wouldn’t close. He looked down at the weapon in his hand.

A kathrang.

Damned Siivalan, thought Drascar. Should have fed her to the sharks.

Chapter 85
Mother to Us All

Sevora stared into the eyes of her enemy. The prime studied her as its hive ran past, wild shrieks and distant screams sending shivers down her spine. Cicada calls echoed over the feral din as she pulled her hand away from her sword. She wouldn’t go easy if it came to a fight, but beneath the growing hunger inside her, she could sense the prime’s intentions.

It wanted her help.

She scoffed at the proposition, until she saw its target. Fleeting images passed through her mind of a rippling navy cloak and a crystal longsword wrapped in fire. Valdaris. She grinned. It was almost too good to be true.

But then the creature crouched before her, its cloak of dark mist swirling over its body so it looked like an orb of darkness floating over the earth. The creature’s hand reached out from the shadows, one long claw scraping gently across her cheek.

Mother to us all.

Its voice, thought more than heard, scratched at her ears. She winced, pushing back against the cannon behind her, and the monster drew back. Disgust and rage filled her eyes, every muscle in her body tense as she shuddered with utter revulsion.

The prime seemed to remember itself, features returning to a sinister glare as it stood. It motioned with its hand, and four zovakem approached, tendrils of shadow extending from their hands like whips. Each dark strand ended around the neck of those who’d been with her in the cave: Noillin, Falcen, and two Selvan soldiers who’d sheltered under her barrier.

The prime motioned again, and the zovakem behind the soldiers twisted their wrists. The dark tendrils thickened, the monsters’ flesh constricting around their muscles, then withering as though their essence were feeding into the shadow. The mist spread over the soldiers and seeped into their skin, both men gasping before the shadows consumed them from within. Their bodies broke into pieces, horror still visible on their faces before their heads hit the ground and scattered into ash and dust. The zovakem behind them collapsed in a decaying heap.

Sevora felt sick, but raw anger overtook her as the prime motioned to the remaining monsters.

“Fine!”

The threat was clear. And, for now, their interests were aligned. The monster looked back at her with a savage grin, then waved its hand. The tendrils vanished and Falcen fell to the dirt — from beneath his armor, she wasn’t sure he’d been conscious in the first place. Noillin, on the other hand, sighed relief and slowly shifted her hand over her korossa’s hilt, but Sevora signaled caution.

The two remaining zovakem stepped away from the captives, then set off beside their prime without a word.

“Are you alright?” asked Sevora.

“I thought...” Noillin’s voice trailed off as she looked to the dust and armor where the soldiers had fallen.

“We’ll be fine,” said Sevora. “It’s after bigger prey, it seems.”

She turned back, reaching over the Naemreddan cannon and pushing herself up to watch the battle. Noillin crouched by her side. She thought to scold the girl for leaving Falcen, but he seemed to be breathing. It was hard to tell under all that armor, what good it did him against these zovakem in the end.

As ever, she had to do everything herself.

The horde cut through the Naemreddan army with ease. The front ranks abandoned their cannons and trebuchets, fleeing toward the burning city, while the endless sea of soldiers behind marched ever onward into the swarming monsters. Dark fog hid the slaughter and sucked in those soldiers and zealots too foolish to flee. Some were consumed by the fog, some fell screaming as zovakem claws and weapons tore into their flesh, but Sevora spotted some who seemed to bask in the dark mist, convulsing where they stood before turning and joining the zovakem charge against their allies. The turncoats screamed and shrieked into the night, sounds more horrifying than the zovakem themselves that made Noillin turn away beside her, rocking with her knees to her chest.

“We’ll be fine,” said Sevora, repeating herself for her own assurance as much as Noillin’s. “Watch over Falcen. I have to... see something.”

She gripped her korossa and a nauseating rush linked her mind to the hive. Raw hunger and destructive rage consumed her, the dark thrill of slaughter blazing through her nerves with each kill. She swept her legs over the cannon and followed, keeping low as she tracked the dark swell representing the zovakem prime in her mind.

Light flashed ahead to her left. A warning from the prime told her to hide, and she already knew what to expect. She ducked behind another cannon, peeking around its barrel to watch as an enormous dragon filled the air. The smoking field shook beneath her feet as the dragon roared, mist parting to either side of its fiery body and revealing the cloaked Cereman standing below.

She still couldn’t believe her luck. The last time she’d seen that longsword aflame, blazing with raw power so fierce she’d trembled, had been at Kartumol. Even without the flames, it was an imposing weapon, and she shuddered at the thought of Dain’s blood staining the dark crystal. She’d wasted her opportunity at Kartumol to end Dain’s murderer and feared another chance would never come. She’d bided her time and studied her enemy, but this was beyond her wildest dreams. With the zovakem on her side, she couldn’t fail.

To her amazement, the prime landed the first blow. She basked in the thrill of the hunt as a second slash ripped across Valdaris’s arm. She should have been jealous, seeing another succeed where she’d so decidedly failed, but she felt each swing of the prime’s claws as though they were her own. She felt the heat of the blade on her hands as the prime drove Valdaris back toward the horde, and she grinned from afar.

Thunder boomed from the clouds above, two loud cracks now the harbingers of Valdaris’s impending doom. Except no lightning followed. Sevora looked up in time to watch two dragons swoop down over the horde, blasting into the zovakem with rivers of liquid fire that she felt searing her own skin. She screamed, her agony mild compared to her rage.

She couldn’t let the Cereman win.

She dropped her korossa, sighing with relief as her connection to the horde vanished. When she looked back, the prime was gone. Those monsters clear of the dragons charged Valdaris from behind, but his sword rang through the night and cut them down with ease. His motions were a blur, the sword flashing in bursts as it stabbed and maimed, his navy cloak blending with the zovakem’s skin so the sword looked suspended in the air between them.

Sevora fumed. She considered charging into the fray herself but thought better of it. She put her hands to her hips and stomped the ground. Valdaris cut through yet another zovakem, its entire body charred and smoking from a burst of golden flames. But just as Sevora felt sure the Cereman would prevail, her hand closed around the kathrang at her hip.

It had been years since she’d trained with anything but a korossa, and Valdaris was well out of range. But she had to try. She tightened the gesh straps around her wrists and pulled the weapon from her belt, careful to keep its sharp edge against the leather across her palm. She thought back to Master Dothan’s lessons, but finesse would do her little good here. Strength and speed. She lifted the kathrang over her head, aimed across the field, and threw with all her might.

Power pulsed through her arm. Even as the kathrang slipped past her fingers, she felt it in her mind. The fierce weapon spun in a wide arc, slow to her mind’s eye yet tense with deadly intent, her awareness willing it toward its target. And against all odds, its forward edge ripped into Valdaris’s shoulder.

She yelped with glee. A zovakem managed to knock the Cereman’s blade from his hand and its flame disappeared. Her heart raced — it was finally happening.

Except the horde grew still. The zovakem’s axe stopped a foot from Valdaris, a savage strike that would have cut deep into his neck. Even the dragons circling above froze in the sky. Valdaris fell to his knees and reached for the kathrang, groping blindly until his hand closed on the weapon. She felt his touch against the cool metal, felt his blood dripping from the blade as it pulled free, felt the wound throbbing and pressing in as though trying to close. She pressed back with her mind, willing the pain to double and resist his power. His arm fell limp by his side.

Her awareness spread like a poison through his body. She just needed him weak enough for his hold over time to slip and the zovakem’s axe to finish its brutal work. Even from so far, she could feel power seeping into his blood and bones, wrapping around the Cereman’s cruel heart and ready to tear him apart from the inside. She grinned, savoring his weakness. She’d spent too long chasing his shadow and watching those around her fall under his spell. No more.

But what hope she felt vanished in an instant. The sword’s ruby flashed red at Valdaris’s feet and her power shrank back. She forced herself to keep hold of him, but then a flicker of orange flame rose off the crystal blade. She watched as it stretched out, wrapping around the kathrang in Valdaris’s hand just before the weapon slipped from her mind. The sudden loss of awareness was jarring, like a part of herself had been ripped from her body.

Then the flame touched the Cereman’s cloak. The fiery strand coiled around his sleeve, igniting the dark material at his shoulders with a single spark. This time, her awareness broke with such force that she fell back, landing hard on her tailbone and trembling from the pain and shock. When she stood back up, it took all her resolve not to yell out with rage.

Valdaris’s entire cloak glowed hot red and orange, bright flames like a dragon’s leaping from the smooth fabric and the hood pulled over his head so he looked like a fiery demon dancing between the monsters.

To Sevora’s horror, he held her kathrang in one hand and his Chazendur dagger in the other. Time resumed, and Valdaris cut through the zovakem who’d disarmed him before throwing the kathrang, catching another monster between the eyes while felling two more with deft swipes of his dagger. The kathrang ripped free of the zovakem’s skull with a flick of Valdaris’s wrist just as his dagger flew into another’s chest.

Sevora was desperate. She couldn’t let it end like this. She scooped up her korossa and felt her remaining power sink into the blade, her diminished state filling her with a hunger for more that drowned out her rage. Noillin called her name in harsh whispers, but Sevora held out her free hand and motioned the novice back. She pushed herself forward, slithered across the battlefield with what stealth she could muster, and crept up to the nearest zovakem waiting for its chance at Valdaris.

She raised her sword and stabbed the creature through the heart.

Black fire rushed across the korossa’s length and burned a hole through the monster. Her awareness rushed in, linking with the horde. But now, instead of fleeting impressions, she could sense the hive’s feelings and actions as though they were her own. And she took control. She felt the prime relinquish its hold over its minions as though this were what it had wanted from her all along.

Master Dothan’s kathrang tore into a zovakem’s gut, and she felt its pain as her own. She almost lost hold of her korossa, but as the monster died its power rushed through their link and filled her with a sickening wave of energy. She wanted more.

She took control of another, attempting to dodge the kathrang and taking the Chazendur dagger to the throat instead. She gulped, the pain and shock making her hurl as she held on, more power rushing through her sword as black and purple flames danced across her vision.

Again. Her next attempt sent two zovakem attacking at once, mustering all her swordcraft and mastery to anticipate Valdaris’s movements and force him into a mistake. His fiery cloak blinded one monster while the other lashed out, losing its arm in the flames. Sevora cried out in agony, tears streaming from her eyes as her mind threatened to break. But she held on for all she was worth, sending monsters to their deaths with abandon and each death filling her with power, even as the trauma of their pain fixed her mind with renewed hatred for the Cereman. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take. But she couldn’t lose.

Not again.

She felt a pulse of energy from her right, turning as the prime appeared in a burst of shadow. It bared its fangs, its malicious grin sending a shiver down her spine, then turned for the Cereman and marched forward with claws out to either side.

She doubled her efforts, hoping to at least distract Valdaris while the prime closed in. But just as he felled another zovakem with her kathrang, turquoise and scarlet flashed by her side. Pain from the kathrang blurred her vision, but she caught hints of long, silver hair and a scarlet silk robe as something approached the prime from behind. She tried to send a warning through the sword, but she was too late.

The man lifted what looked like a korossa over his head, then swept the blade down on the prime with enough force to cut through its shoulder and most of its torso, the sword finally catching in the creature’s gut.

Everything stopped. The horde of monsters stood in a daze, eyes dull and soulless as the prime gasped and spat blood. It tried to reach for the sword sticking from its body, but the robed man braced and the blade flashed bright turquoise. A blast of blue flames ripped the prime to pieces as Sevora watched, her mind spared the worst of its pain as it died.

And in the last moments before she stumbled back, she saw through the eyes of a distant zovakem, its claws raised against a man in monk’s robes before a longsword stabbed into the creature’s heart. The connection broke, not just to the dying zovakem but to the horde itself, as though the entire hive had rejected her will for a new master.

The zovakem on her sword’s edge crumbled to ash, and she fell to the dirt. Darkness closed in, her vision blurring and Noillin’s yells behind her fading out as her mind gave way to the void.

Chapter 86
Cataclysm

Valdaris Drascar basked in the glow of gilden fire. He staggered back as turquoise flames scattered the Zovah’s remains, but the release he felt over his mind was overwhelming. A dark cloud like nothing he’d experienced had followed him since Pallados, only growing stronger as the monster’s hive approached Selvandrea. But now the veil was lifted, and purest clarity wiped his mind free of the darkness. He knew he should have been bracing for the clash with Morraedd that was surely coming, but for now he’d savor the death of their common foe.

He expected the zovakem horde to collapse or linger as empty husks, but after a pause the monsters fled for the rocky hills and forests beyond the field. He thought for a moment of Sevora, but he watched her collapse off to the side.

Podarrek. Of course.

For a host to survive, let alone command, three strains in a single body stretched credulity. But with the prime gone, the Daruman prince held a direct link to the zovakem hordes. And with his knowledge, he’d become just as great a threat as any Drascar had faced, save the Karziv’hakaz. And, of course, Morraedd.

Drascar sheathed his dagger, keeping his eyes locked on the Selvan lord as he slid Sevora’s kathrang under his belt. A versatile weapon, and it would serve as a harsh reminder of who and what she was. He still clung to hope for her and what her power could mean for this world, but she could also spell his doom if left unchecked — she’d come far too close for comfort this time.

He felt his sword underfoot and knelt to pick it up. The ruby glowed and cool energy washed over his nerves, the fiery dragon overhead dispersing as his grip tightened around the hilt. He flicked his wrist, and the gilden fire racing across his cloak and sword vanished.

“So, what now?” he asked.

Morraedd let the faintest grin relax his features, but his eyes were cold and severe. He charged with impossible speed, aiming a powerful blow that might have landed had he not faltered at the last moment. He tripped over a fallen zovakem and crashed into a roll to Drascar’s left.

Drascar stood, summoning gilden flames to dance over his sword while the high lord recovered. Bursts of turquoise fire flashed from Morraedd’s korossa, so bright he dropped his blade and crawled back, then held his hands to his head. His body went stiff, and his eyes were wide with shock and pain. He turned to the city.

Drascar saw the reason too late. With the Zovah’s dark shroud pulled away, the ruby’s power flooded Drascar’s mind with visions, false futures and deception replaced by abject horror he’d come too late to stop.

He fell to his knees, and the southern mountain upon which most of Selvandrea was built erupted in blazing streaks of turquoise power. Thin walls of light and fire cut through the mountain and reached beyond the clouds. He watched, unable to move.

Fiery rocks flew across the sky and rained down on the field like meteors. The shelf beneath the Palace of Lords collapsed, the great towers crumbling and stained glass exploding out from shattered frames to fall over the city in a downpour of glittering shards. The Malda, its enormous colosseum already split in half by the blast, crashed down along with most of the upper levels, the Siivorium and lords’ manors falling over the helpless nobles and merchants who’d remained outside the hidden city, there to watch the battle unfold below.

Then the mountain itself collapsed. Dust, snow, and ash flew out in a cloud as the mountain’s full weight crashed down, imploding on the great cavern hidden within.

Silence followed. Drascar and Morraedd knelt together, staring out over the ruined city with shared confusion and despair.

“A trap,” muttered Morraedd. “Trap. All a trap... always. All trapped. All a trap.”

Drascar couldn’t make sense of the lord’s rambling, and his only thought was of the countless people buried inside the mountain. Melladar, Seth, and Alessa were alive. He was sure of it. He couldn’t sense them, but their deaths would have sent ripples through the gilden strain even Morraedd’s obelisks couldn’t deter.

The obelisks.

“You fool,” said Drascar. “You damned fool.”

Morraedd tensed, then lashed out with his sword. Drascar caught the blow on his blade with ease and cast the man aside with a wall of rippling energy.

“You almost had me convinced.” Drascar stood, flourishing his blade as rage overwhelmed his senses.

“Be silent, Cereman,” said Morraedd, pushing himself up and brandishing his sword. “Every sacrifice I’ve made has been in service of our fight.”

“Yet somehow,” said Drascar, “your actions always seem to suit the draemeir’s purpose. You nearly wiped out my people in the name of protecting your own. And now you’ve failed them too.”

“Enough!”

Morraedd charged, this time with the finesse of a kossa master and power rivaling Drascar’s own. His sword glowed with the fire of ten thousand voices, vocalir from his people and Rhynwhen’s robbed essence feeding from the broken obelisks into Morraedd’s soul. Even knowing this day would come, Drascar was ill-prepared. All his millennia of training couldn’t hope to match the collective unconscious of an entire nation.

Their swords met with a shockwave of power that ripped across the field and threw Drascar back. He had to link with the ground, reaching his awareness deep into the charred and bloody soil to guide his flight before Morraedd appeared ahead, folding through space and swiping across Drascar’s path. He spun and dodged, barely evading the glowing blade before landing hard on his back.

Morraedd was on him in seconds. The warriors traded a series of blows as Drascar tried to steady himself. Each collision of their blades flashed between them with blue and gold fire, singeing Drascar’s hair and jacket while Morraedd’s flowing robes remained unblemished. Drascar realized with a start that they bore striking resemblance to his cloak, dragon’s oils condensed into fine silk fibers. What he’d taken for the fruits of extravagant pride was in fact evidence of yet another way he’d underestimated his enemy.

Drascar attempted a feint, turning a false stab into a parry and locking their blades, but Morraedd’s korossa nearly ran him through. His longer weapon forced Drascar back and he barely held his own against the lord’s onslaught. The vocalir power pulsing from the korossa blurred all but a few of Drascar’s visions, and he couldn’t land a single blow in any.

But despite the lord’s advantage, Morraedd couldn’t break through Drascar’s foresight. And while Morraedd stood alone, Drascar had two dragons circling above, feeding him their perspectives through the strain so he could anticipate his opponent’s every move. He commanded them to stay away, lest Morraedd try to do to them what he’d done to the swarms, but Drascar worried their fire might be the only way to end the lord’s tyranny once and for all.

In the eternal war, fighting fair was rarely an option.

The thought gave him an idea. Though the lord’s robes seemed impervious to gilden fire, the dragons belonged to Drascar. He linked to the scarlet robes, breaking through Morraedd’s power imbued within and grabbing hold of the silk’s immeasurable potential, compressed light and energy from which the dragons drew their magic. And in his next visions, he pulled one hand away from his sword, opened his palm, and summoned a simple burst of fire that caught on Morraedd’s sleeve. His robes burst into the full blaze of rippling dragon’s fire, the lord’s frantic screams cut short by Drascar’s blade piercing his heart.

The vision collapsed, and Drascar smiled. His blade met Morraedd’s overhead, each warrior twisting parries into diagonal swipes that scattered blue and gold fire between them, and Drascar stepped back. As Morraedd closed in, Drascar opened his palm.

Just as the first spark flashed from his fingers, Elaryn appeared between them.

Both men stopped. The image was gone as soon as it appeared, sparkling gold shimmering over the dirt before receding into Drascar’s sword. To Drascar’s surprise, Morraedd was first to lower his sword.

“I didn’t know,” he said after a pause. “I swear to you I didn’t know.”

Drascar stared into his rival’s eyes. There was no apology behind his severe gaze, but no hatred either — just resignation. He had the empty look of a man whose long life and every effort had been in vain, misguided and cast aside by the tides of fate. Clinging to the false hope of freeing his people from the draemeir, he’d harvested their power into the obelisks and done far worse besides. Only now did he see the hidden city for the trap it was, the obelisks a failsafe planted in Morraedd’s mind and unleashed by the Zovah’s death.

Drascar turned toward the city and recalled that feeling all too well, despair so deep it turns the soul cold. He remembered Azurial, the shining sapphire city. And he remembered all the people he’d failed in his first attempt at a lasting sanctuary from the darkness.

With a sigh, he flicked his wrist. The crystal sword flashed red, retracting into the hilt as its serpents shrank and twisted into a ruby ring around his finger. He reached for his belt and unsheathed the Chazendur dagger.

“Prove it.”

He shifted the blade into his hand and held out the hilt for the fallen lord to take. Morraedd’s eyes flashed blue, and the faintest hint of turquoise light flickered along his korossa’s edge. Drascar tensed, but Morraedd shook his head, fighting back the darkness within, and let his korossa fall to the ground. His hand closed around the dagger’s hilt.

“I swear by the Malda’s light, I didn’t know.”

With that, Morraedd cut a line across his open palm.

And as the gilden strain slipped into the high lord’s blood, Drascar, for the first time in millennia, allowed himself to believe the war could be won.

Thanks for reading this first volume of The Draemeir Chronicle — more to come!

Be sure to leave a rating on Amazon and Goodreads.

If you want to stay in touch and care about such things as sequel news, *special editions*, author interviews and the like, follow me on Tw/X at @timmckay52

I’m thrilled you’ve come along for the ride in this dark adventure, and I can’t wait to share more.

Cheers and cha’vielle!

Tim J. McKay

Acknowledgements

This story is not just my own. I owe so much to you, the reader, but also to all those who helped me bring this wayward daydream to its present form in all its dark glory.

First and foremost, my deepest thanks to Greg, Abi, and Cory, three of my closest friends who’ve supported me through thick and thin and whose consistency gives me hope in the darkest hours.

Special thanks and no small measure of awe to Joe Requeza for the book’s jaw-dropping cover and internal illustrations. His talent brought my vision of Naevoroth to life beyond what I could have hoped for, and I can’t wait to work with him again.

This amazing cover design came from Rachel Bostwick, who also designed my early covers and has always been an absolute pleasure to work with.

Several editors and many beta readers had a hand in taking this story from draft to publishable work, and I am grateful to each for their patience and attention to detail. I’m equally grateful to members of my Chapter Swap group who edited nearly every chapter in this book.

From my college Professional Writing program, I want to give special thanks to two professors in particular for their support and editing contributions: Colin O’Connell and Nicole Chatelain.

Finally, special mention goes to Jan Miklaszewicz (@JanMiklas01) and Matt Sorenson (@BeardofDarkness) for their early support and friendship.

Cheers and cha’vielle to you all!